


Never judge a book by its cover

by Thorntonsheart



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Weekend Away, fake/pretend relationship with a twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 52,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorntonsheart/pseuds/Thorntonsheart
Summary: “Surely my use of the word ‘partner’ was a rather large clue, brother mine?”  Once again, Mycroft’s words are softly delivered but his growing irritation at Sherlock’s distracted attention shows in the minuscule downturn of his mouth. “You go as part of a couple; romantic, of course.”  Mycroft sneers slightly at the concept before continuing.  “You are relatively famous, that should be enough to entice someone into spending time with you.  Surely some pretty young thing will be eager to spend time with the famous Sherlock Holmes and his infamous temperament; it will only be for four days, after all.”  He has chosen his words with care, knowing they will get a rise from his brother and sure enough ….“Pretty young thing!”  Sherlock spits, his pale eyes suddenly blazing, full attention finally on his brother. “I don’t want some insipid person fluttering their eyelashes at me and simpering at my every word!  What I want….” Sherlock trails off, aware that he has already said too much.“Indeed.”  Mycroft raises an eyebrow and leans forward once more in his chair, hands templed, an unconscious echo of Sherlock’s favoured pose.  “Then ask him.”
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 643
Kudos: 628
Collections: Sherlock Fandom VS 2020





	1. The scene is set

“Sherlock, please stop being so childish about this.”Mycroft huffs, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair, emphasising his words. His patience with his petulant younger brother long since departed. 

“I am not being childish, Mycroft.I am simply saying no. I don’t want to do it.” Sherlock insists, well aware that he sounds every inch the child Mycroft is accusing him of being.He turns his gaze to the fireplace, wishing his brother far away.

“Then give me a good reason, Sherlock.This meeting could be of national importance.” Mycroft leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers linking near his chin. 

“Then you go, if it’s so important.”Sherlock idly plucks at a string on his violin, still staring in to the fireplace, wondering how long it will be before John returns from his outing with Rosie.

“I am too well known.”Mycroft waves a hand, forestalling Sherlock’s interruption. “If I were to be seen there I would be expected to attend the meeting and that would alter the whole purpose of it.It’s a non-secret, secret meeting.Hidden in plain sight, so to speak.”Mycroft settles back more comfortably in John’s chair, nose wrinkling slightly at the worn condition of the material.

“Brilliantly explained, as ever, Mycroft.”Sherlock derides, his attention more on the heat of the sun from the window than Mycroft’s words. 

Sherlock had awoken unusually late after the completion of a complex case to find a note from John awaiting him on the kitchen table, stating that he had taken Rosie out to enjoy the Spring sunshine.Sherlock had decided to seek them out moments before Mycroft had arrived, curtailing his planned excursion and souring his good mood.

“I was using simple words so that you could grasp the concept, Sherlock.”Mycroft’s words are as calm as always but the continued twitch of his fingers on the armrest of John’s chair reveal his irritation. “I merely need for you and a _partner_ to be in the vicinity of the meeting, ideally in the same hotel; that way you can use your ‘powers of observation’,” Mycroft lightly mocks. “To see who is in attendance and who appears to be merely lingering on the periphery to deduce what their true purposes and intentions are.”

“And why would they accept my presence, even just in the locale, as innocent when they would see a double purpose in that of my brother?”Sherlock lightly rests the violin on his thighs, trailing his fingers over the glossy woodwork, even as part of his mind drifts.

“Surely my use of the word ‘partner’ was a rather large clue, brother mine?”Once again, Mycroft’s words are softly delivered but his growing irritation at Sherlock’s distracted attention shows in the minuscule downturn of his mouth. “You go as part of a couple; romantic, of course.”Mycroft sneers slightly at the concept before continuing.“You are relatively famous, that should be enough to entice someone into spending time with you.Surely some _pretty young thing_ will be eager to spend time with the famous Sherlock Holmes and his infamous temperament; it will only be for four days, after all.”He has chosen his words with care, knowing they will get a rise from his brother and sure enough ….

“Pretty young thing!”Sherlock spits, his pale eyes suddenly blazing, full attention finally on his brother. “I don’t want some insipid person fluttering their eyelashes at me and simpering at my every word!What I want….” Sherlock trails off, aware that he has already said too much.

“Indeed.”Mycroft raises an eyebrow and leans forward once more in his chair, hands templed, an unconscious echo of Sherlock’s favoured pose.“Then ask him.”

“No.”Having John at his side always raises Sherlock’s game but to ask him to pretend to be his romantic partner is a step too far, even for Sherlock.

“Just ask him, Sherlock.”Mycroft urges gently, his voice unusually compassionate. 

Sherlock becomes aware of John’s presence scant seconds before he hears John’s voice and berates himself for missing the noise that John and Rosie’s arrival must surely have made.Damn Mycroft and his distractions.

“Ask who, what?”John queries curiously as he helps his two year old daughter out of her coat, watching fondly as she toddles off to pull her toy cars and dolls out of their box.

“It’s nothing, John.”Sherlock averts his gaze from John’s keen eye, briefly returning his attention to his violin before allowing it to drift to where Rosie sits chatting to her toys. “It seems Rosie had an enjoyable trip to the park.”

“She did, but stop trying to change the subject.Ask who, what?”John repeats, glancing between the Holmes brothers.

“I require Sherlock to oversee the attendees at a meeting.For the endeavour to be successful his presence at the hotel needs to be seen as merely coincidental; hence the need for him to appear to be on a romantic retreat.”

“So Sherlock needs to ask someone to pretend to be his boyfriend?”John clarifies, noticing the way Sherlock flinches at the terminology. “For want of a better word.”

“Indeed.”

“So who were you going to ask?”John queries, bending down to lift Rosie into his arms before moving to sit on the sofa, balancing her slight weight on his lap. 

“Nobody.As I want nothing to do with this idiotic scheme.”Sherlock insists, sending a venomous glare in his brother’s direction.

“I’ll go.” John’s attention appears to be solely on his daughter as she flicks her way through a book, her brow furrowed as she studies each picture intently. 

For a long moment the only sound in the room is from Rosie pointing out particular things of interest to her dad.Sherlock is stunned by John’s suggestion and he struggles to find the correct way to respond.John glances up to see Sherlock pensively playing with the arm of his chair, his mind obviously whirring away.

“You do realise we are two men, John?That you would be pretending to be a _man’s_ boyfriend, _my_ boyfriend?”As much as he hates the infantile word in the shock of the moment Sherlock can find no alternative.Partner is too clinical, too close to what they actually are.Lover is not clinical enough and far too close to what Sherlock wishes they were.

“Yeah, I had noticed that, Sherlock.Doctor, remember?”John teases lightly before turning his attention to Mycroft.“Will the fact that two men are taking a romantic holiday together be a problem at this hotel?”

“No, far from it.It is situated just outside Brighton, a very accepting city; the hotel building may be antiquated but I can assure you, their attitude is thoroughly up to date.Discrete where necessary.” Mycroft answers, his hands resting lightly on his knees, at ease now he can see that he is likely to get his own way.

“Would the fact that you have a male partner be too unbelievable, Sherlock?Would it be better to ask someone like Molly?”John asks, genuinely curious. 

“No.I.. I..”Sherlock stutters, surprised at John’s directness. Mycroft’s presence momentarily forgotten.“No.If I were to ever embark on a relationship my partner of choice would be male.”

“Oh?Only I had wondered after Janine and how you reacted to Irene.”John idly plays with his daughter’s hair, wrapping the golden curls carefully around his fingers. 

“That was years ago, John, and for a case, as you very well know.Despite what she told the papers it wasn’t…”Sherlock hesitates. “She wasn’t….. that.Nor was Irene; her mind intrigued me, not her body or gender.”

“So is it the fact that it’s me that’s the issue then? You’d rather take somebody else?” John pushes, tension seeping into his body.He carefully sets Rosie on the floor, distractedly handing her some more books to look at.

“Of course not!”Sherlock stands abruptly, leaving his violin on his seat before starting to pace the room.Elegant hands waving in frustration.“I have always worked well with you but I don't think you understand.…”He halts suddenly, taking a deep, calming breath.“Leaving that aside for now.We are not a couple, we have never been a couple.People are aware of this, they will know our relationship is fake.”

John shrugs.“We’ve been in a _relationship_ for ages, Sherlock.People see what they want to see.”

Sherlock moves to fling himself back in his chair halting only at the sight of his violin, instead dealing his frustration on his hair with long, agitated strokes of his fingers.“Sharing a flat with someone is not the same as being in a romantic or sexual relationship, despite what _people_ might want to believe.”

“Sex isn’t the same thing as intimacy, Sherlock.”John moves to Sherlock’s side, placing a calming hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.“We’ve lived together, on and off, for years.We know each other better than anyone else does.You are helping me to raise Rosie.”

John looks on as Sherlock freezes, perfectly still except for the constant fluttering of his eyelashes, his mind temporarily offline.From the corner of his eye John can see Mycroft smothering the start of a rare smile. 

“Sherlock?”John waits until Sherlock’s focus is back on him, his hand lingering a moment longer before he moves away.“We can do this. _I_ can do this.Trust me.We can say that we’ve just started dating, that it’s all very new, that we wanted some time away from prying eyes.I’m sure Molly and Mrs Hudson will be more than happy to have Rosie for a few days.”

“You’re sure, John?Surely being seen to be in a relationship with me, however short lived, will rather limit your dating opportunities?” 

“Possibly.Possibly not. I haven’t looked to date anyone in years.”John clears his throat and glances at his feet before continuing.“So you’ll take it then?Mycroft’s case?”

“Yes, if you believe we can do this.”Sherlock’s answer is soft, meant only John’s ears.Turning to Mycroft he raises his voice.“So when do we need to undertake this ridiculous escapade of yours?”

“Two days time.I trust this will give you enough time to make arrangements for Rosie’s care?”Mycroft stands and smooths out the non-existent wrinkles from his trousers before retrieving his ubiquitous umbrella from where it rests against the chair. “I will send a car to take you to Blackfriars Station where you will board a train for Brighton.Be ready, Sherlock, the car will be here at 10am sharp.”

Mycroft is almost to the door when Sherlock stops him.

“First class, Mycroft.” It is not a question.

Mycroft glances quickly at John before giving a curt nod.


	2. Sweet Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a final round of farewells, John and Sherlock collect their bags from the hallway and go out to meet the awaiting car. Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Rosie all wave them off from the front steps before going back inside. Something catches Sherlock’s eye as John is loading the bags in to the boot of the car, having refused the driver’s help. 
> 
> “Suit carrier?” He asks, raising his eyebrow in query.
> 
> “Yes. For my suit.” John says slowly, as if talking to the idiot Sherlock has occasionally accused him of being. “The suit I plan on wearing at some point over this weekend.”
> 
> “You never wear suits. Unless it’s for a wedding, a funeral, a christening or a court case.” Sherlock lists. “None of which will be occurring this weekend.” Sherlock slides in to the car, watching as John gets in behind him. 
> 
> “True, but it always pays to be prepared.” John smiles, obviously relishing the unusual situation of Sherlock not knowing something.
> 
> The rest of the short drive to Blackfriars Station is quiet but comfortable, each man content to watch the streets of London pass by.

Friday morning finds them in Mrs. Hudson’s living room, their bags in the hallway, getting ready to say their goodbyes to Rosie. Mrs. Hudson and Molly are chatting quietly as John reads aloud to Rosie, Sherlock happily supplying additional sound effects for the giggling child. The subtle click of a photograph being taken makes John look up for a moment, catching Mrs. Hudson cooing over the photo on Molly’s phone.

“Haven’t you got enough of those yet?” Sherlock asks in between growling noises, his gaze still on the blonde child sitting on his lap as John shows her the pictures in a book.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. I can never have enough photos of my boys and their little girl.” Mrs. Hudson coos, looking at her own phone to check that Molly has shared the photo with her.

Sherlock keeps his focus on Rosie, trying to ignore the little stab of emotional pain he gets whenever Mrs. Hudson implies that Rosie is his. She isn’t, she never has been, and it is nigh on impossible that she ever will be. He comforts himself with the fact that John feels that he is helping him to raise her and that allows him to continue with his animal noises without a hitch. 

He admits he had not coped well with the realisation that John and Mary were expecting a child, it was very much the final nail in the coffin in regards of John continuing to spend time with him; work with him. Mary would, quite rightly, need for him to be at home to help with their child; would expect him to keep regular hours so that they could provide stability for their child. That, of course, had all changed when he’d been shot. John had been angry with Mary for so long - resenting her, resenting the child - that Sherlock hadn’t had time to process his own feelings on the situation fully. John forgave Mary, as Sherlock knew he would, and the baby became a very real factor once more. He thought he would ‘put up’ with the child, the way he had with John’s girlfriends. As such, he had been ill-prepared for the flood of love that he had felt when he had first held her in his arms; crying and covered in vernix caseosa, none the worse for her sudden arrival in the back of a car. An arrival he’d played an unexpectedly active role in. He’d loved the days when John and Mary had visited, dropping exhausted on his sofa, leaving him in sole care of their daughter. Trusting him. He had taken great care to only call her ‘Watson’, thus always reminding himself to whom she belonged. His heart had broken at the event of Mary’s death; not only at the loss of a woman he had grown to cautiously like but at the loss of John, with everything that he represented, and the loss of his goddaughter. 

The day that John forgave him enough to bring her back to Baker Street had been almost overwhelming for them all. John was still struggling to forgive himself for his behaviour towards his daughter and towards his best friend; Sherlock was busy trying to reassure him, the best that he could, and being amazed by how much the child had grown, how much he had missed. Whilst poor Rosie had fretted and clung to her father, the atmosphere in the room tense. Sherlock had reached for his violin, improvising a song for her, there and then; before long her fretting had decreased and soon she was nestling, content, in John’s arms. After a few more visits and more violin recitals she had reached out for Sherlock herself. He had taken her from John, oh so carefully, with a lump in his throat; the whispered, ‘Hello again, Watson’ barely making it to John’s ears. 

Eventually, John had moved back in to the much improved flat. Baby gates were in place, dangerous chemicals and equipment were locked away in 221c, plug sockets and corners were all made safe, the floor was clean and free of junk. Still very much 221B in essence, but now ready for its newest, and youngest, resident. Sherlock still played his violin, often lulling both John and his daughter to sleep; he still took on cases, usually with John, Rosie safe in Mrs. Hudson’s or Molly’s care; but he also spent his time making up songs for Rosie to enjoy, reading her stories - complete with sound effects and actions; documenting her first steps and first words. And it is the way it continues to be now - Rosie Watson is as much a part of life at 221b Baker Street as John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, and he wouldn’t change it for the world.

He becomes aware that John is talking to Rosie, telling her, once again, that they will be away for a few days. Sherlock takes the opportunity to give her one final hug before passing her up to John, who is now standing in readiness of their departure. John rests her expertly on his hip, holding her safe with one arm; he plays with her hair before tugging her socks up and ensuring she has her cuddly bee, delaying handing her over to Mrs. Hudson for a few more precious moments.

“Have fun with Nanny and Auntie Molly, okay sweetheart? We’ll be back in just a few days. Love you.” He presses a kiss to Rosie’s cheek before passing her to Mrs. Hudson’s awaiting arms. Sherlock doesn’t see the smile on John’s face as he leans in to press a kiss first to Rosie’s cheek then to Mrs. Hudson’s, but nothing escapes Mrs Hudson’s keen eye and she smiles fondly over at Molly who responds with a smile and almost Sherlockian eye-roll.

Rosie rests her head on Mrs. Hudson’s chest , clutching her cuddly bee tightly to her body. “Daddy home soon?” 

“Yes, love.” John smiles, fighting off the inevitable wave of sadness that comes from leaving his little girl, even when he knows she is being left in the very best of hands and will have a wonderful time.

“Sherwock home soon?” She queries, her wide blue eyes, so similar to her father’s, fixed firmly on his face.

“Yes, Watson, I’ll be home soon too.” He pats the little bee on the head, garnering a short giggle from the toddler, before reluctantly moving away.

With a final round of farewells, John and Sherlock collect their bags from the hallway and go out to meet the awaiting car. Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Rosie all wave them off from the front steps before going back inside. Something catches Sherlock’s eye as John is loading the bags in to the boot of the car, having refused the driver’s help. 

“Suit carrier?” He asks, raising his eyebrow in query.

“Yes. For my suit.” John says slowly, as if talking to the idiot Sherlock has occasionally accused him of being. “The suit I plan on wearing at some point over this weekend.”

“You never wear suits. Unless it’s for a wedding, a funeral, a christening or a court case.” Sherlock lists. “None of which will be occurring this weekend.” Sherlock slides in to the car, watching as John gets in behind him. 

“True, but it always pays to be prepared.” John smiles, obviously relishing the unusual situation of Sherlock not knowing something.

The rest of the short drive to Blackfriars Station is quiet but comfortable, each man content to watch the streets of London pass by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much! Whether you have just popped by for a read, left a kudos or a comment, it is all hugely appreciated and means a huge amount to me!
> 
> If the mood so takes you remember to subscribe to the story and/or me as an author!
> 
> xx


	3. The weekend begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Christ, say it a bit louder why don’t you? I don’t think they heard you at the back.” John hisses, glancing up and down the railway car before running a hand over his face, the colour high on his cheeks. “There is such a thing as masturbation, Sherlock.” He says quietly, leaning over the table a little to limit the amount of people who might hear him.

“This is nice, very nice indeed. It’s a good touch, the complimentary food and drink; the fact I don’t even have to leave my chair for it makes it even better.” John strokes his hand over the arm of his plush leather seat in First Class, taking a sip of his perfectly brewed coffee, sighing in contentment. “I could get used to this.”

“I’m not sure your bank account could.” Sherlock pouts, eyeing the way John’s fingers caress the chair with jealousy. “It is ridiculously expensive to travel First Class, the ‘complimentary’ food and service are far from free, the cost being built into the ticket price.” He drags his eyes away from John’s nimble hands. “I don’t see why we couldn’t have used one of Mycroft’s cars. After all, we are doing this for him.”

“Oh, shut up and eat your nuts.” John teases good-naturedly, tapping Sherlock’s leg with his foot. It is unusual to see Sherlock so obviously wrong-footed and he is rather enjoying the spectacle. “You and I are supposed to be going on a romantic getaway, Sherlock. Nothing to do with Mycroft; if we arrive in one of his cars it would rather give the game away.” He takes another sip of his coffee, licking a stray drop from his top lip, unaware of the way Sherlock’s gaze follows the gentle wipe of his tongue. “Besides, this is how I would do it.” It’s almost an aside but Sherlock catches it.

“Do what, John?” Sherlock sips his own coffee, aggravated when it proves to be rather exceptional. He fakes a grimace but knows that John has seen through this action when he smirks against the rim of his own coffee cup.

“If I was going to take someone I was in a relationship with away.” John puts his coffee down, fidgeting with his bag of crisps before pushing it away. “Someone I wanted to take the next step with. Someone that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” John fidgets in his chair and turns his face to the sun that streams through the window, warming his skin, encouraging him to relax. “I’d take them to a nice hotel or something similar, somewhere they’d feel comfortable, somewhere our relationship wouldn’t raise eyebrows.”

“A dirty weekend away you mean.” Sherlock retorts, unreasonably hurt that John is sharing with him how he would win over the woman of his dreams. He too turns to gaze out of the window, hoping the action will prevent John from reading too much in his expression; something he has become annoyingly adept at since moving back in with Rosie. 

“You’re not listening, Sherlock.” John turns to face Sherlock, waiting until Sherlock meets his gaze. “This is someone I would want to live with, in whatever capacity, for the rest of my life; until I am old and grey…” He smiles at Sherlock’s snort. “Ok. Greyer. Someone who stimulates me, mind and soul. Sex doesn’t have to be part of it, as I said before, sex doesn’t necessarily mean intimacy.”

“You’d go without sex? I find that difficult to believe.” Sherlock forces himself to look away from John, picking up his newspaper and flicking through the pages, feigning disinterest. He’s not even seeing the words as he seemingly scans the page; part of him wanting to hear what John has to say, part of him not wanting to hear about John’s sex life. 

“I’ve managed so far. It’s been..” John pauses, he looks away from Sherlock, his unseeing gaze on some distant point on the luggage shelf above them. “Christ, it’s been going on for three years now, or thereabouts.” He huffs a laugh, looking once more at Sherlock.

“You’ve gone without an orgasm for _three_ years?” Sherlock states, incredulous. All signs of feigned disinterest gone. The information is shocking - granted, he can’t recall John going out on any dates or having seen any evidence of one night stands, despite opportunities being available on John’s rare nights out at the pub; but Sherlock had put that down to not _wanting_ to see. Worried that any encounter could be the one that takes John away from Baker Street. Away from him. Permanently.

“Christ, say it a bit louder why don’t you? I don’t think they heard you at the back.” John hisses, glancing up and down the railway car before running a hand over his face, the colour high on his cheeks. “There is such a thing as masturbation, Sherlock.” He says quietly, leaning over the table a little to limit the amount of people who might hear him.

“I am aware.” Sherlock answers dryly, fighting the temptation to lean over the table, to bring himself closer to John, knowing what a bad idea it would be to be so close to him. He can feel heat flooding his cheeks and he closes his eyes, his brain flashing up images of John masturbating. The idea isn’t new to him, his brain has been quite busy flashing these sort of images at him for almost the whole time he has known John. Usually he can stop them when in company but hearing John talking about it, however vaguely, breaks through his defences. He knows this conversation, embellished and extended, will feature in his own masturbatory habits long in to the future.

“Yes. Well. Good.” John responds awkwardly, clearing his throat before continuing to talk, obviously determined to get his point across. “You’re still not actually listening, Sherlock.” Sherlock forces himself to focus on what John is saying, clearing the inappropriate images from his mind. This time, Sherlock allows himself to lean in a little, knowing that this conversation is important to John, no matter how painful it might be for him. “What I’m trying to say is that sex isn’t a prerequisite for a relationship with me. If the person I’m with doesn’t do that, then it’s fine, it’s all fine.” John’s face is earnest, the truth in his words obvious.

Sherlock doesn’t know how he is supposed to react to this information so he simply nods, acknowledging John’s words. Luckily, this seems to be enough for John, who smiles, gives a nod of his own, and settles down to read his book.

The rest of their journey passes relatively quietly, John reads his book, insisting that Sherlock keeps his thoughts on it to himself. Sherlock retreats in to his mind palace, reviewing the key facts that Mycroft has provided him with on the delegates expected to be in attendance this weekend.

They get a taxi with ease from outside the station and John makes idle chatter with the driver whilst Sherlock watches the sights of Brighton sweep by. The landscape quickly changes from cheerful British seaside to quintessential English countryside. Their journey through tree lined lanes is surprisingly quick and before long the car is pulling onto a gravelled driveway, the tyres crunching over the stones as the hotel comes into view.

The hotel building itself is large, obviously the legacy of some wealthy landowner; the soft cream paint of its facade glowing warmly in the spring sunlight, various climbing plants just coming in to bud on their trellises. The driveway is well tended, no rogue weeds grow in amongst its golden stones and the large gardens appear equally well maintained. Everywhere there are signs of life to be seen: fat bees buzz drowsily around them as they exit the car. John watches on, amused, when Sherlock’s face lights up at the sight of them. Yellow daffodils dance in the gentle breeze and the scent of hyacinths fills the air; all in all, John feels, this is an idyllic spot for a romantic getaway. John fetches their luggage with a light heart and a smile on his face.

As they climb the few steps leading up to the main door John reaches for Sherlock with his free hand, carefully linking their fingers together. Sherlock looks over at him in surprise, his brow lightly furrowed but does not pull away, instead slowing to a halt.

“Okay?” John asks softly, stopping alongside Sherlock. Sherlock studies John, bright eyes flicking over him before his lips part in an ‘Oh’ of recognition.

“Our ‘romantic weekend’ has started.” Sherlock clarifies, even as his heart sinks at the knowledge that this contact is just part of their persona for the case, he shoves the foolish hope back down that had sprung up at John’s touch.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” John queries, stepping closer to Sherlock, his thumb rubbing distracting circles on the back of Sherlock’s hand. “Because if you’re not, we can tell Mycroft to shove it.”

“As much as it would delight me to tell my brother to ‘shove it’, I am fine with this. I can be whatever it is I am needed to be.” Sherlock reassures, tightening his grip on John’s hand.

“You. You need to be you.” John states earnestly, his attention solely on Sherlock. “With all your brilliance. Just, in this particular scenario, you also need to appear to be slightly smitten with this old army doctor.” 

“That I can do.” Sherlock asserts, breaking their eye contact before John can read more from his face than he willing to share. “Let’s go get booked in, shall we?”


	4. Hotel Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ok there, love? You seem miles away.” John slowly releases Sherlock’s hand, sliding his palm beneath Sherlock’s open coat and suit jacket, around Sherlock’s back until it rests, warm and distracting, just above the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. 
> 
> Sherlock's eyes flutter momentarily closed at the contact and he takes a moment to store the sensation away for later perusal and enjoyment. “Hmm?” He responds, still unforgivably distracted. “Oh. Yes. Fine, fine. Just admiring the architecture of this beautiful building, when was it built? 1830? 1831?” He covers, directing this last part at the concierge who brightens at Sherlock’s interest and apparent knowledge.

They take the last few steps together, hand in hand, their footsteps perfectly in time; as they always are. The doorman greets them with a warm smile and tip of his hat, holding the door open wide for them. It crosses John’s mind that the doorman represents the hotel perfectly - elegant whilst also being strangely welcoming - as was, no doubt, their design. Rather like Sherlock, John thinks, smirking, glancing at Sherlock; John need not have worried that Sherlock had noticed his amusement as he is now studying the lobby of the hotel with a deep frown on his features, seemingly oblivious of John. 

The walk to the front desk takes them less than a minute. Sherlock spends the time studying the other people in the foyer intently, pale eyes narrowed, full lips pursed. He is aware that they have arrived at the desk but his focus is solely on the other guests, fact files on each of them spilling straight into his mind. He is subliminally aware of the man behind the counter - shorter than average height, slightly built, ginger wavy hair, freckles and wide, if waning, smile - but dismisses him as unimportant, having not been featured in any of Mycroft’s files. A gentle pull on his hand alerts Sherlock to the fact that his attention is needed elsewhere.

“Ok there, love? You seem miles away.” John slowly releases Sherlock’s hand, sliding his palm beneath Sherlock’s open coat and suit jacket, around Sherlock’s back until it rests, warm and distracting, just above the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. 

Sherlock's eyes flutter momentarily closed at the contact and he takes a moment to store the sensation away for later perusal and enjoyment. “Hmm?” He responds, still unforgivably distracted. “Oh. Yes. Fine, fine. Just admiring the architecture of this beautiful building, when was it built? 1830? 1831?” He covers, directing this last part at the concierge who brightens at Sherlock’s interest and apparent knowledge.

“You know your architecture, Sir!” The young man directs a genuine smile at him, green eyes sparkling. “The building was completed in February of 1832, taking 15 years to build and almost bankrupting the family. Luckily, they had made some wise investments and were able recoup most of their fortune again.”

“Sherlock, love?” John intercedes, reading the signs of an impending long conversation. “We had an early start this morning, let’s get booked in, unpack, grab some lunch and relax?” He leans some of his weight against Sherlock, feigning weariness, his head resting against Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Of course, sweetheart. Sounds perfect.” Sherlock surprises himself at how easily the endearment slips from his lips. He knows that he has softened, become more ‘human’ in recent years, and yet he is still surprised at how comfortable he is with the changes. “Booking under the name of..” He hesitates, suddenly aware that he does not know this piece of essential information, and it throws him a little off kilter. Apparently sensing this John pulls him a little closer, his hand sliding round to sit on Sherlock’s opposite hip; the feeling both caring and somewhat proprietary and Sherlock finds he very much enjoys the sensation.

“Watson. Doctor John Watson.” John provides smoothly, his smile that of a confident man in control.

The concierge enters the details into the computer with quick taps of the keys, eyes scanning the screen, freckled brow slightly furrowed. “Here we are. Booking for a superior double room. Garden view. Three nights. All inclusive. Paid in advance.” He looks up to check the information is correct.

“Yes, that’s us.” John responds, still smiling easily. He has to release his hold on Sherlock to accept the keycards as they are handed to him. Sherlock quickly analyses the situation and moves to take his luggage from John, leaving John with a free hand and room for their keycards in the hand with his own luggage. Sherlock seizes the opportunity and quickly links their free hands together, hitching on an innocent smile when John looks up at him.

John politely refuses the offer of a porter for their small amount of luggage and walks the short distance to the lift, his hand firmly held in Sherlock’s. Sherlock has barely pushed the button to summon the lift before it arrives with an understated ‘ping’, the polished brass doors opening with a quiet swish. The journey to their room gives Sherlock just enough time to admire how right he and John look together in the smoked glass interior, their hands still joined, before the doors open onto a plushly carpeted, wood-lined corridor. 

John checks the keycard he is awkwardly holding along with his luggage and glances down the corridor, before he has a chance to work out in which direction their room is Sherlock drags him off to the left.

“Room 23, John. Come along.” He has no reason to still be holding John’s hand but he doesn’t let go, reasoning that it’s good practice for their case; he brushes away the fact that it feels extremely nice as irrelevant.

“Here we are.” They halt in front of a heavy wooden door, the numbers engraved on a discrete brass marker in the centre of the door. The only nod to modernisation is the sleek locking mechanism that John deftly slides their card through, all without releasing Sherlock’s hand.

The room that awaits them is understated luxury, eliciting a quiet whistle of appreciation from John. Deep-pile burgundy carpet mutes their footsteps as they enter the room, the pale cream walls adorned with beautifully framed art work, the colours complementary to the warm wood tones of the furniture and the material of the window dressings. The room has plenty of room for a small table with upright chairs, two padded armchairs and the usual accoutrements required for tea and coffee making. The whole room gives off an air of comfortable elegance, the light streaming through the voile drapes dances across the carpet, leading the way to the over-sized four poster bed. The bed is dressed with embossed cream covers, a runner and numerous throw cushions matching the burgundy of the carpet and curtain tie-backs and it draws Sherlock’s gaze, long after he should have been looking elsewhere.

“This is nice. Very nice indeed.” John says, echoing his earlier opinion. 

“Maybe it’s time to try out a new sentiment, John.” Sherlock reluctantly lets go of John’s hand and rests his case against the foot of the bed - _their bed_ , his overactive brain provides. “I think this room deserves higher praise than that which you gave to travelling by train.” Upon reaching the window Sherlock pushes the voile aside to reveal an unparalleled view of gardens with a small woodland beyond.

“Well it is very nice.” John insists, coming to stand beside him. “As is this view. I’d even go so far as to say beautiful, in fact.” Sherlock looks over at John, just as John looks away. John takes a step closer to Sherlock, sliding his arm around his waist; the sensation is dulled by Sherlock’s coat but he can’t resist leaning in to the embrace. 

“Perhaps we can take a walk later? Lunch first though.” Sherlock smiles down at John. “Can’t have my ‘boyfriend’ being seen to be grumpy on our first weekend away.”

“I don’t get grumpy when I’m hungry.” John insists, smiling at the easiness of their conversation. “I just need to eat more often than you do.” He walks back over to their abandoned bags, picking up his suit carrier from where it rests on the end of the bed. “I’ll just unpack a bit first, I don’t want this to get wrinkled.”

With swift movements John unpacks his suit, Sherlock gets a fleeting glimpse of a steel-blue sleeve, the material and cut unexpectedly expensive, before the wardrobe door is closed.   
“The shirts and stuff will be okay for a bit longer. Do you need to sort anything out before we head down? No?” John holds out his hand, smiling when Sherlock links their hands with no sign of hesitation.


	5. A lunchtime interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock studies John, grey-blue eyes darting to and fro as he observes the way John is sitting - outwardly relaxed but some tension about the shoulders, growing more noticeable the longer he observes; the way John is smiling - hopeful, earnest….. apprehensive; the way John is looking at him - again hopeful and apprehensive, like he thinks Sherlock will read something he will react badly to; the way the sunshine dances over his features - highlighting strong cheekbones that others ignore, the cleft in his chin, mobile lips that promise… irrelevant. Sherlock snorts, annoyed at the direction his observations have taken him in and returns to the matter at hand. He studies John once more, noting the way John’s gaze flicks hopefully to the view outside the window.
> 
> “A walk around the grounds would be nice.” He finally concedes, returning John’s smile.

John makes a slight detour to talk to the concierge before rejoining Sherlock in the bar, where they have decided to have a relaxed lunch. Surprisingly, Sherlock merely raises an eyebrow on John’s return, allowing John to keep his secrets for once. The happiness that John exudes as he eats his lunch is worth the extra effort that Sherlock uses to keep his deductions to himself. It is obvious that John is keeping very much in role as smitten boyfriend, with his secret smiles and gentle touches, and Sherlock is more than willing to play along. He is aware that when they are back in Baker Street it will be hard to return to a life where the only touches are those of friendship, where the meals they share are those as flatmates, not lovers; but, for now, he will enjoy the facade of a different kind of relationship with John whilst he can. 

Their talk over lunch is light-hearted, interspersed with brief bouts of handholding. As the meal comes to an end their talk turns to the task ahead of them. 

“When did Mycroft say he expected most of the attendees to be arriving?” Sherlock asks, pushing the last of his asparagus risotto around his plate. 

“Tonight, with the rest arriving in the morning. Odd timing, in my opinion.” John smiles down at what remains of his goat’s cheese and walnut salad, fully aware that Sherlock has no need to fact-check with him but appreciating the effort.

“Oh?” Sherlock abandons all pretence of finishing his food, instead moving to hold John’s hand, his heart racing; as it always does every time they make contact.

“It’s just that Saturday afternoon through to Monday morning is rather an unusual time for something like that, surely? It’s not a Bank Holiday Weekend, so people are giving up quite a lot of their own time for this and may not be getting paid for any missed work on Monday.” John answers meditatively.

“I suspect that was purposeful, John. To see which people are really committed and which people are merely making noise. Although, I still fail to see how useful our being here is. This is something Mycroft could observe through his network of security cameras or, if he wants the more human touch, by sending one of his own people. Someone whose face isn't known.”

For a brief moment John looks almost guilty and he glances away before changing the subject completely. “What do you want to do this afternoon? There’s probably no-one here yet that you need to observe and there’s no toddler after my attention; we have a rare moment of free time. You finished a complicated case recently, so even your brilliant mind could probably cope with an afternoon off. Do you still fancy that walk?”

Sherlock studies John, grey-blue eyes darting to and fro as he observes the way John is sitting - outwardly relaxed but some tension about the shoulders, growing more noticeable the longer he observes; the way John is smiling - hopeful, earnest….. apprehensive; the way John is looking at him - again hopeful and apprehensive, like he thinks Sherlock will read something he will react badly to; the way the sunshine dances over his features - highlighting strong cheekbones that others ignore, the cleft in his chin, mobile lips that promise… irrelevant. Sherlock snorts, annoyed at the direction his observations have taken him in and returns to the matter at hand. He studies John once more, noting the way John’s gaze flicks hopefully to the view outside the window.

“A walk around the grounds would be nice.” He finally concedes, returning John’s smile.

“Is that something you honestly want to do or is it because you think it’s something I want to do.” John queries. His tongue nips out to swipe over his lower lip and Sherlock’s gaze drops to follow its path before he forces himself to meet John’s eye again, surprised to see the tail end of a smug smile leaving John’s face. 

“Both. I can see that you’d like to be outside enjoying the weather whilst you can, and I admit I can see the appeal myself.” He hesitates but feels obliged to speak the rest. “It will also add an element of veracity to our visit here.”

For a moment John looks less than happy with the reasoning for the decision but nods in agreement, before getting up from his chair, using their joined hands to gently encourage Sherlock to stand. He moves the few steps that are required to bring him closer to Sherlock. Slowly, allowing Sherlock time to move away if he feels uncomfortable, John stretches up on to his toes. Again, he meets Sherlock’s gaze before he closes his eyes, golden eyelashes fanning across sun dappled cheeks and Sherlock is mesmerised. His own eyes flutter shut as John’s breath lightly caresses his skin, a second later the merest touch of John’s lips is felt against a cheek that he is sure has never been so sensitive before. Nerve endings light up under John’s touch and for a moment Sherlock is overwhelmed, surely a kiss to the cheek shouldn't incite such a reaction? People do it all the time; parents to their children, friends when they greet each other or say farewell. He has kissed Mrs. Hudson’s cheek on numerous occasions and her own lips, decidedly different to John’s, have touched his cheek in greeting, in amusement, with affection. But still this kiss feels different. Sherlock knows that it is only for their act this weekend, he does, but somehow he can't extinguish the small flame of hope that ignites at John’s touch. 

When he finally opens his eyes it is only John he can see, cheeks stained a light dusky pink, a shy smile on his lips. 

“Alright?” The words are barely a whisper, Sherlock manages a brief nod, words failing him. 

Taking Sherlock’s hand again, John leads them outside; once more their steps are perfectly in time.

For a long while they walk without talking, their hands loosely clasped, neither seemingly willing to be the first to release the other. Their walk takes them to a small ornamental pond where they stop for a while to admire the fish; flashes of red, gold and orange showing in the depths of the water. Sherlock is able to see their reflection clearly and can’t help but take the time to admire, once again, how they look together; everything about them complementary. John’s short, compact form next to his own tall, lean one; John’s light hair against his dark; John’s warmth against his own coolness. Sherlock realises these thoughts are merely a product of his own fancifulness, a fancifulness he wouldn't have admitted to having in the not too dim and distant past.

“What are you thinking about?” John asks, pulling Sherlock from his reverie.

“Just remembering a case from a few years ago. The one with the investment banker and the ballet dancer.” Sherlock lies. As always, he is able to recall case details at a moment’s notice.

“Yes!” John laughs, his face lighting up, turning towards Sherlock. “The banker tried to make a run for it, got tripped up by the ballet dancer and face-planted straight in the stagnant fish pond!” John’s laughter has become an endearing giggle and Sherlock can’t stop himself from joining in. His deeper laugh mingling melodically with John’s. “Jesus Christ, that water reeked!”

“As did the banker!” Their laughter continues as they resume their walk, hands remaining linked. 

Their walk takes them to a small path that meanders through the woodland and they lapse into companionable silence. Their path leads them to a wooden bench set in a secluded nook, a trail of late blooming bluebells inviting them in, an invite they happily accept. For a while, they listen quietly to the birdsong, simply enjoying the feel of the sun on their skin. Gradually, Sherlock becomes aware of a growing tension in John, which quickly manifests itself as fidgeting.

“What’s on your mind, John?” Sherlock keeps his face tilted up, eyes closed, the sun warm on his skin; hyper-aware of John at his side. Their hands had finally separated when they’d sat down, although the loss is not keenly felt because of their continued physical closeness; shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. This contact is what allows Sherlock to continue to read the unconscious signals of John’s discomfort. Sherlock can easily deduce that John isn't uncomfortable with their proximity; rather that he has something he wants to say and is unsure how to say it - and how those words will be taken.


	6. Woodland Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fall silent, each pondering their conversation; their gazes now observing the gentle sway of the flowers, their minds miles away. They remain seated, lost in their thoughts, until the buzzing of a large bee attracts Sherlock’s attention. John is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a delighted ‘Oh!’ from his companion. He switches his attention between the zig-zagging, but determined, flight of the bee and Sherlock. Sherlock who is now smiling, the rare crooked smile that makes his cheeks wrinkle and the merest hint of a double chin show. The smile that shows true happiness, the smile that John secretly adores.

John doesn’t answer immediately, drawing his lip between his teeth and scratching his eyebrow, all classic tells of how uncomfortable he feels. He looks at Sherlock, briefly, before looking away again. Although Sherlock is looking elsewhere he can feel the instant that John’s focus is back on him.

“Have….” John clears his throat, scratches his eyebrow again before continuing. “Have you ever felt strongly about someone, Sherlock. Been …. attracted to someone?’

“Ah. It’s going to be that sort of conversation.” He keeps his face tilted up a second longer, before turning to look at John, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. 

“No, I’m sorry. Ignore it.” John backtracks, moving slightly away from Sherlock on the bench.

“No. It’s fine. We’re friends; friends talk about these sort of things. Or so I've been led to believe.”   
And it is fine, Sherlock suddenly realises, this is something he wants John to know. John nods in acknowledgement of Sherlock’s words, unconsciously wetting his lips.

“So? Have you?” John asks again.

“In my youth? Nothing really to speak of. Some half-hearted kisses in my late teens, a few slightly less than chaste touches whilst at University. Nothing earth shattering, certainly nothing that made me want to repeat the experience. Not then anyway. And nothing since.” Sherlock glances at his hands briefly before looking back at John; his eyes appearing almost sky-blue, their focus once more intent. “I didn’t really attract admirers. I looked ‘about twelve’ for far too long.” He gently mocks, knowing John will recall his words from his first ever blog about them. “And, well ….. I’m me. That was more than enough to put anyone off.” His words are self-deprecating, but truthful. John simply nods.

“What about when you were using? At _any_ point that you were using?” 

“No. Contrary to popular belief, when I’m using my mind doesn't slow down, it races! My body isn’t a consideration, it’s barely even transport during those times.” His hands fly around, the gesticulations adding emphasis to his words.

“So, no-one?” The rising colour on John’s face makes it very clear what he is really asking about. Sex. And doesn’t it all boil down to that, one way or the other, in the end? Sherlock thinks.

“I need time with someone.” Sherlock says seriously, trying to verbalise something he has only ever felt before. “Time to adjust to them, to get to know them. To _like_ them. The idea of a physical relationship - a sexual relationship - without that, is almost abhorrent to me. Very few people have been willing to put up with me long enough for that; and just because they can put up with me, doesn’t mean I can put up with them.” He finishes with a wry smile, attempting to lift the serious mood.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking the time to get to know someone, Sherlock. To trust them.” John responds earnestly, unconsciously reaching for Sherlock’s hand; threading their fingers together.

“I know.” His words are softer than he intended, the feel of his hand in John’s, soothing. “Just time isn’t always on my side. Sometimes it’s just too late. Any chance there may have been, has gone.”

They fall silent, each pondering their conversation; their gazes now observing the gentle sway of the flowers, their minds miles away. They remain seated, lost in their thoughts, until the buzzing of a large bee attracts Sherlock’s attention. John is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a delighted ‘Oh!’ from his companion. He switches his attention between the zig-zagging, but determined, flight of the bee and Sherlock. Sherlock who is now smiling, the rare crooked smile that makes his cheeks wrinkle and the merest hint of a double chin show. The smile that shows true happiness, the smile that John secretly adores.

“Want to follow it?” John grins, tugging at Sherlock’s hand, encouraging him to stand up.

“I’m not a child, John.” His words are in direct opposition to the smile on his face.

“I am very aware of that, Sherlock. There’s nothing childish about curiosity; besides, what’s wrong with acting a little ‘childish’ from time to time?” John continues to smile, his gaze even as he coaxes Sherlock along the path.

Sherlock studies John briefly, but intently, before nodding and walking in a determined manner after the bee, now almost dragging a chuckling John along in his wake. Their, somewhat meandering, walk guides them out on to a meadow; spring flowers are sprinkled throughout the shin-length grass like stars in the night sky. John becomes aware that he can no longer hear the sound of only a few bees, now the air is rich with the warm humming of at least a hundred bees busily making their way to and from the hives that nestle in amongst the meadow grass. He watches as Sherlock, who had gently released his hand, slowly walks towards the hives, stopping a mere foot away from the nearest one. 

Time passes and John settles down in the grass, making himself comfortable, his arms folded behind his head, the sun warming his skin. He lets the rare tranquility seep in to his pores, his eyes drooping to the sound of Sherlock talking quietly to the bees. 

“John?” He rouses slightly from his sleep, half convinced he still dreaming when he feels long fingers slide through his hair, the touch both soothing and stimulating. He sighs, leaning in to the touch. “John? Time to wake up.” Laughter colours the voice, it’s recognisably Sherlock but it takes John a moment to realise he isn’t still dreaming. He opens his eyes slowly, smiling at the image of a sunlit Sherlock, hair shining a deep auburn; a colour that’s almost as secretive as the Great Detective himself can be.

“Pity, that was a very nice snooze.” He yawns and stretches, before rolling up to a sitting position. Surprised when Sherlock remains close, his hand drifting over John’s shoulder and down his arm before moving away.

“You can continue in our room.” Sherlock answers. “We can unpack our stuff then you can sleep a bit more whilst I go back over the minimal information Mycroft gave me.”

“Nope.” He yawns again before standing, brushing his trousers down to dislodge the loose blades of grass clinging to them. “Despite looking, and napping, like an old man, I’m not quite there yet.”

“It’s understandable, John.” Sherlock stands, far more gracefully than John could ever hope to manage, giving the knees of his trousers a quick brush down before standing fully upright. “You’re still doing locum GP work regularly, you’re working cases with me more and more frequently, you attend your therapy sessions almost without fail and then there’s Rosie.”

John shoots him a warning glance. “She’s adorable.”

“She is.” Sherlock agrees without hesitation. “She is also a very intelligent, very energetic, two year old. She is always busy learning new things; she doesn’t walk if she can run, she doesn’t say one word if she can say twelve. She very rarely naps during the daytime. She is able to do all this because she has a great parent - you.” Sherlock lifts his hand, hesitates, then strokes John’s upper arm, his fingers briefly lingering over John’s bicep. “It’s no wonder you’re tired from time to time.’

“Well, when you put it that way…” John grins. “Look, I’m refreshed now. I’m going to help, like it or not.” 

“Come along then, John.” Sherlock turns and starts the walk back to the hotel, knowing that John will follow; sure enough, a few seconds later, he feels John’s hand slip back in to his. Sherlock feels he really should take his hat off to John’s commitment to the role of loving boyfriend. He, conveniently, neglects to tell John that is unlikely anyone will be able to see them from the hotel.


	7. Case Notes and Showers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “John, I …” Sherlock halts, swallows, and takes a moment to remind himself that this thing that appears to be happening…..this intimacy….isn’t real. That John is just acting the role of caring lover because he finds it easier to maintain the facade rather than to risk making a mistake when it matters. Staying in role makes the lie easier to maintain; Sherlock can hardly blame him, he has long-accused John of being a poor liar. 

“Right, that’s all our clothes away. I’ve put your toiletries bag next to mine in the bathroom.” John calls, closing the wardrobe door. “Fancy a cuppa?”   
He looks over at Sherlock, receiving a vague hand wave in response. He busies himself filling the kettle and switching it on, before sorting out two cups, dropping a teabag in each. He taps lightly on the worktop until Sherlock makes an annoyed noise. Less than a minute later a freshly made cup of tea is placed in front of Sherlock. “Found anything interesting?” John asks, sitting next to Sherlock at their small table, leaning in slightly to look at the papers scattered in front of them.

“No. There’s no-one due to be here who could be considered a security risk or a likely candidate for blackmail.”

“That you know of.” John intercedes, idly flicking through the photos in front of him.

“Unlikely that I’ve missed anything.” Sherlock answers, distracted. 

“Happens though.” John clenches his jaw, looking directly at Sherlock.

Sherlock looks up, suddenly aware of John’s intense stare. “Yes. It does.” He maintains eye contact for a moment before seemingly returning his attention back to the files. The tension in his hand which is still holding the paperwork and the angle of his shoulders tells a different story. 

Hesitantly, John reaches towards Sherlock, pulling his hand back only millimetres before making contact with the glossy curls of Sherlock’s hair. Instead, he directs the movement so that his hand rests on Sherlock’s shoulder. “You know I forgave you for that.” Sherlock looks up, sadness in his eyes. “Ages ago.” John gives in to temptation, allowing his hand to briefly stroke Sherlock’s cheek, surprised as Sherlock’s eyes briefly widen at the contact. “It’s time you forgave yourself.”

“John, I …” Sherlock halts, swallows, and takes a moment to remind himself that this thing that appears to be happening…..this _intimacy_ ….isn’t real. That John is just acting the role of caring lover because he finds it easier to maintain the facade rather than to risk making a mistake when it matters. Staying in role makes the lie easier to maintain; Sherlock can hardly blame him, he has long-accused John of being a poor liar. 

The silence draws out too long, the quiet becoming uncomfortable. Sherlock still struggles for what he wants to say, what he _needs_ to say. His mind is buzzing with words, with _feelings_ , and yet no matter how he struggles he can not vocalise anything. It all becomes tangled at the back of his throat; the words, the _emotions_ , choking him.

“It’s okay.” John takes pity on him, finally breaking the silence. “Really. It’s okay.” He holds Sherlock’s eye for a moment longer, before clearing his throat, effectively ending the moment. “I’m going to grab a quick shower before dinner.” He gives Sherlock’s shoulder a brief squeeze before walking in to the bathroom.

Sherlock attempts to return his attention to the paperwork in front of him but it no longer holds his interest. Sherlock hears the sound of the shower turning on, noting the way the sound of the water changes as John steps under the spray and he can’t fake interest in Mycroft’s case any longer. He resists the temptation to push it to the floor, instead shoving it all back in the envelope, none too gently. When John starts to hum loudly, the sound melodic if of no recognisable tune, Sherlock has to move further away from the bathroom - and temptation. Instead, he moves to the window and opens it, allowing the early evening birdsong to flood in, masking some of the sounds from John. He stays there, the evening breeze ruffling his hair and cooling his skin, until John leaves the bathroom. 

He turns from the window just in time to see John adjusting the waistband of his boxers over his hips. He moves towards the wardrobe; oblivious to the way Sherlock’s skin flushes and his eyes travel over John’s body, taking in the faded, knotted scar on his shoulder, the fine golden hair gleaming damply on his chest and legs, the way the dark material of his underwear hints at what is hidden beneath. 

“Shower’s all yours if you want it.” John says, putting on a pair of black trousers, before pulling out a red shirt from the wardrobe. He slips the shirt on, turning to face Sherlock as he buttons up, his open trousers resting loosely on his hips. “We’ve got about thirty minutes before we need to head down to dinner.” He smiles up at Sherlock, his hair already neatly styled; Sherlock is surprised that he hadn’t noticed the sound of the hairdryer.

“Yes, I’ll just…” Sherlock trails off as John tucks his shirt in before doing up his trousers, left hand adjusting the sit of his shirt under the waistband. Sherlock quickly grabs some underwear from the drawer, ignoring the way his clothes nestle so intimately against John’s. Reaching in to the wardrobe he removes a fresh shirt; deciding to re-wear his current trousers, before heading towards the bathroom.

“Your clothes are going to get all damp, Sherlock!” John calls after him. Sherlock’s only response is to firmly close the bathroom door. 

The room is still warm and damp from John’s shower and this knowledge only heightens Sherlock’s reaction to seeing John clad only in form fitting boxer shorts. Sherlock rests his hands on the sink countertop, his head hanging down as he laments the foolishness of his body and mind. John is far from being a prude but the most Sherlock usually gets to see is a flash of chest and calf when he emerges from the bathroom. 

Once, and only once, had Sherlock glimpsed far more and the image had seared itself in to his brain, having its own special area in his Mind Palace. Arriving home unexpectedly after a break in a case, covered in particularly malodorous mud from an industrial area of the Thames, Sherlock had been in a rush to rid himself of the lingering clumps and pervasive reek. The flat had appeared empty and he had burst into the bathroom and was halfway out of his clothes before realising he wasn’t alone. John was relaxing in the bath, a bath in which most of the bubbles had dispersed, leaving it in no doubt just how very naked John was. Sherlock just had time to observe a lightly-haired chest, hinting at loosely-toned muscle; an unexpectedly flat stomach and the trail of dark blonde hair leading to a flaccid, but well-proportioned, cock before he had fled the room - and the flat. 

It had taken a shower in one of the less salubrious hotels in the East End of London and spare clothes from a local bolthole before Sherlock had started to feel himself again. A shower where he’d taken himself in hand and let his mind return to the image of John in the bath. It hadn’t taken him long to reach his climax and he had returned to that image of John time and time again since.

Now, Sherlock is hoping that his body will behave itself, or at least relax enough for him to have a simple shower. Alas, it is not to be. Sighing deeply, Sherlock strips off and steps inside the shower cubicle, turning the water on he enjoys the cold spray against his over-heated skin as the water heats up. Once more, he takes himself in hand and allows his mind to drift back to John. Specifically, the way he looks whilst moving, whilst smiling, the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand. Sherlock barely manages to stifle his groan of completion, belatedly remembering how clearly he’d heard John humming in the shower less than fifteen minutes earlier. The rest of his shower is conducted in a much more relaxed manner. He dries off as throughly as possible before donning his clothes - slightly damp. Just as John had predicted.


	8. Dinnertime deductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We can share an appetiser between us, if you want. Neither of us are big eaters, and I know you’ll want to stay alert.” John suggests, looking hopeful. 
> 
> “That sounds … acceptable.” Sherlock sends John a deliberately flirtatious look in keeping with their role as loving boyfriends and is intrigued by John’s reaction - a slow lick to his lower lip and slightly dilated pupils. “After all, isn’t that what boyfriends do? Feed you up?”
> 
> “You’ve not deleted that?” John pours them both a glass of ice water from the jug on the table, his hand perfectly stable despite his laughter.

“You look very nice.” John comments as they leave their room, sliding his hand into Sherlock’s, his chin tilted up so that he can see Sherlock’s face clearly. Sherlock resists the ever present temptation to lean down and kiss him. Here, in the corridor, there are no witnesses to see their pretence and therefore no excuse for him to hide behind. So Sherlock does what he has always done, he pushes the temptation away and enjoys his time with John, however they spend it.

“Thank you. You too.” Sherlock realises that this barely counts as a compliment and tries again, determined to express himself. “The shirt is, um, the colour.. very nice.” He tries again before rolling his eyes at his own lack of fluency and escaping his apparent idiocy by entering the lift.

“Cheers.” John laughs, his face wreathed in lines of genuine happiness, knowing how hard small talk is for Sherlock and appreciating the effort. Leaning closer, John reaches up and removes a tiny piece of lint from Sherlock’s shoulder, his hand lingers for what seems like an unending moment before slowly stroking down Sherlock’s arm. Sherlock shivers in response; somehow the gesture feels more intimate than anything that has preceded it. Apart from their lunchtime kiss. A not-so-mere kiss to the cheek. That stands alone. With the ping of the lift door John steps slowly away but not before sliding his hand in to Sherlock’s once more. Sherlock misses his proximity immediately.

When they arrive at the restaurant they are led to a secluded table that is perfect both for the pretence of a loving couple and for giving Sherlock a clear view of the restaurant and dance floor. The restaurant itself is decorated in keeping with the rest of the hotel; warm wood panelling, tables and chairs, with burgundy and cream tablecloths, napkins and chair covers. The dance floor is intimate without being overly small and a raised platform containing a piano and some music stands reassures Sherlock that he won’t be forced to listen to anything too horribly modern or, god forbid, karaoke.

John pulls Sherlock’s chair out for him and waits patiently for him to sit down, smiling at Sherlock’s raised eyebrow. Only once Sherlock is comfortably seated does John sit down, his smile stretching in to a grin at Sherlock’s continued confusion. John passes Sherlock a leather bound menu and for a while they both peruse their menus, the comfortable quiet punctuated from time to time as John points out dishes that might appeal.

“We can share an appetiser between us, if you want. Neither of us are big eaters, and I know you’ll want to stay alert.” John suggests, looking hopeful. 

“That sounds … acceptable.” Sherlock sends John a deliberately flirtatious look in keeping with their role as loving boyfriends and is intrigued by John’s reaction - a slow lick to his lower lip and slightly dilated pupils. “After all, isn’t that what boyfriends do? Feed you up?”

“You’ve not deleted that?” John pours them both a glass of ice water from the jug on the table, his hand perfectly stable despite his laughter.

Sherlock shrugs in response, sipping his water, forcing his eyes to scan the room; unwilling to admit that when it comes to things that John has said or done he never deletes anything. Three or four of the other diners are recognisable from Mycroft’s files, surprisingly most appear to be here with their romantic partners. Sherlock files that unexpected piece of information away for later perusal.

“What do you fancy? The mushroom pâté looks nice, as does the Caesar salad.” John muses, his finger on the menu, his focus now on Sherlock.

“You decide.” Sherlock frowns at the people around him. Everyone seems relaxed, most are chatting light-heartedly, some are concentrating on eating but even they are at ease. He’s missing something; but what?

“Yeah, you’re not being very subtle there.” John’s hand comes to rest on his forearm, squeezing lightly before letting go. “Might want to ease back on the glaring a little.”

“Something isn’t right, John.” He gestures to a middle-aged couple seated a few tables away. “Take him for example. He is listed as one of the delegates for this weekend, a so called _key-player_. And yet his job is dull, his career path is dull; even his marriage is dull. He is _beige_ , John. Nondescript.”

“A spy? The fact that he doesn’t stand out would make him perfect for something like that.” John sips at his water again, not quite meeting Sherlock’s eye.

“No, the very mediocrity of him would make him stand out.” Sherlock insists, leaning closer to John. “He is here with his wife. Who brings their wife to an important meeting?”

“Could be a mistress?” John suggests half-heartedly. “He’s using the meeting as an opportunity to have a dirty weekend?”

“No. Look at them.” Sherlock insists, reducing the limited space between them even further. “Matching wedding rings, clothing style that unconsciously mimics the other. It’s the same with their body language, everything indicates at least twenty-five years of marriage. Two children, both grown; I saw a photograph when he opened his wallet a moment ago.”

“I have every faith you will work it out, you’ll see what this weekend is all about.” He pats Sherlock’s hand. “Now, choose your main course, I’m hungry.” John looks at his menu again but allows his hand to stay over Sherlock’s.

When the waiter comes over they both order, John requesting two plates with their Mushroom pâté as they will be sharing. They decide to have a bottle of white wine to accompany their main course; John leaving Sherlock to order that. John enjoys a nice wine but still can’t tell a 1906 wine from a 2006 wine, much to Sherlock’s continuing despair.

Sherlock uses the time spent waiting for their appetisers to deduce more of the other diners but he still can’t help feeling that he is missing something vital. The few people he recognises from Mycroft’s file would appear to have nothing in common, no shared interest to draw them to this weekend’s meeting. If he hadn’t been told by Mycroft that a highly important meeting was taking place at the hotel this weekend he would have written them off as holiday makers taking advantage of the unusually mild spring weather and the, no doubt, cheaper off-season rates.

During Sherlock’s continued analysis of the room John fidgets in his chair, plays with his cutlery and generally avoids prolonged eye contact. Initially, Sherlock ignores this behaviour, deciding John is over-hungry or bored and as such his attention is wavering. Eventually Sherlock realises that this is something more, this is John’s ‘I may have done something a bit not good’ behaviour. His ‘I’ve pureed vegetables and hidden them in both your mash and Rosie’s’ look; his ‘I mistakenly messed up your experiment documentation but I’ve made us both a nice cup of tea’ look. Sherlock continues his observations of the other patrons but surreptitiously shifts his focus to John. 

Sherlock observes that John has obviously made a special effort for tonight; his clothes are all freshly laundered, with the shirt and trousers being newly purchased. The cut and material of these items indicates that John has spent more on them than usual; therefore, John wants to make a good impression. John’s hair was cut just before they came away and he has spent time styling it tonight, both making use of hair products (his own, brought from home?) and the hotel’s hairdryer; once again, this points towards John wanting to impress someone. John’s shoes are his dress shoes, shoes that only make rare appearances at christenings, weddings, funerals, court cases and, before John’s marriage, his important dates. Sherlock leans in close to John again, using the pretence of imparting a salacious detail or two about one of the waiters, and takes a deep breath; he catches the subtle scent of John’s aftershave. John rarely bothers with aftershave, preferring to save it for a special occasion; once again, this lends veracity to the fact that John is trying to impress someone. 

Sherlock studies the room again, who could have caught John’s eye? He is halfway through his perusal of the room when the thought that has been fighting for attention amongst all his other observations finally gets to the forefront of his mind…… John had bought new clothes, then packed said clothes at Baker Street, before he had seen who any of the attendees would be. 

Sherlock can’t help but fall back on an old adage; that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. So what is the truth? Who is John trying to impress? 

The _impossible_ \- that it is someone at this meeting of Mycroft’s - has been eliminated. What remains - the _improbable_ \- is that John is trying to impress Sherlock; is _attracted_ to Sherlock. 


	9. Dance and Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a scientist, first and foremost, and as such understands the need to test a hypothesis. This weekend - the whole ‘pretending to be a couple,’ could definitely work in his favour; Sherlock decides to study John’s reactions to proximity, to a touch or embrace initiated by Sherlock and, if it seems relevant, a chaste kiss. Deciding to test his theory, he leans in closer to John. Resting his hand lightly over John’s he waits until John looks at him; observing the way he swallows, the way his eyes dart momentarily to Sherlock’s lips, before leaning in further. For a moment Sherlock allows how he feels about John to show on his face before pressing his lips, briefly, to John’s. He pulls back to study John’s reaction, ignoring his own pounding heart and heated skin. John looks gratifyingly stunned, before blinking and licking his lips, his gaze once again wandering back Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock has long been aware of how he feels about John. That he _loves_ John. Above and beyond that of the love for a friend; best friend or otherwise, but he never thought that John felt anything for him beyond a deep and abiding friendship - and even that realisation had taken him far too long.

Sherlock is a scientist, first and foremost, and as such understands the need to test a hypothesis. This weekend - the whole ‘pretending to be a couple,’ could definitely work in his favour; Sherlock decides to study John’s reactions to proximity, to a touch or embrace initiated by Sherlock and, if it seems relevant, a chaste kiss. Deciding to test his theory, he leans in closer to John. Resting his hand lightly over John’s he waits until John looks at him; observing the way he swallows, the way his eyes dart momentarily to Sherlock’s lips, before leaning in further. For a moment Sherlock allows how he feels about John to show on his face before pressing his lips, briefly, to John’s. He pulls back to study John’s reaction, ignoring his own pounding heart and heated skin. John looks gratifyingly stunned, before blinking and licking his lips, his gaze once again wandering back Sherlock’s lips.

“Ummm …thanks?” John licks his lips again and Sherlock imagines that John can taste the echo of him on his skin.

“You are more than welcome.” Sherlock answers, surprising himself at how husky his voice sounds. He watches with delight as John’s pupils’ dilate. “I thought it would add credibility to the story behind why we are here.”

Just as John starts to respond a waiter arrives with their appetiser, John glances at the waiter, then back to Sherlock, clearing his throat awkwardly. John nods his thanks as the waiter puts the plate of food in front of him, placing the spare plate in front of Sherlock.

“Help yourself, Sherlock.” John gestures at the food before spreading some pâté on one of the sourdough toasts.

“Why don’t you do the honours?” Sherlock rests his chin on his hand, leaning his elbow on the table; full attention completely on John.

“Lazy arse.” John chides gently. He spreads some pâté on toast for Sherlock, holding it out carefully between finger and thumb, obviously expecting Sherlock to take it from him. Instead, Sherlock leans closer, opening his mouth; John rolls his eyes but proceeds to guide the toast close enough for Sherlock to take a bite. Sherlock doesn’t miss the way John’s hand trembles slightly, or the way he maintains Sherlock’s gaze as he continues to feed him. Sherlock gently takes the last piece of toast, his lips brush over John’s fingertips, causing him to suck in a sudden breath.

“Mmmm, delicious.” Sherlock smiles, leaning back in his chair and swiping another piece of toast and some pâté, this time feeding himself, effectively breaking the moment.

“Dick.” John laughs affectionately, popping some toast in his own mouth.

They share the rest of their meal in idle chatter. The arrival of their main courses - wild Alaska salmon and mixed bean salad with lemon and coriander dressing for Sherlock; wild Alaska halibut wrapped in prosciutto pesto served with wild rice for John - and wine heralds more food sharing and laughter. They briefly discuss the possibility of dessert before deciding to simply enjoy the music and to order a coffee a bit later. 

The music is a mix of genres and seems to appeal to everyone in the room, John drums along with the beat on his knees or the table top, his two glasses of wine lowering his inhibitions just enough for him to stop worrying about what other people may think of him. Sherlock loves seeing him like this, relaxed and enjoying the moment. He watches as John sips at the last of his wine, admiring the way the movement puts the lines of his strong jawline on show, emphasising his cheekbones. He smiles when John looks over at him, aware that he isn’t anywhere near as a handsome as John; Sherlock feels his relaxed look tends to make him look rather idiotic, all double chin and wrinkles - although it appears extremely likely that John, at least, finds him attractive.

“We never did get to dance together, did we? Not properly anyway.” John says, a look of sadness briefly flitting over his features. He moves so that he stands before Sherlock, his hand out in offer. “Would you do me the honour?”

It’s now Sherlock’s turn to be surprised, it is only when John starts to slowly lower his hand that he realises that he has yet to respond. Standing quick enough to make his chair wobble precariously behind him, Sherlock reaches for John’s hand. “I’d be delighted.” They walk to the small dance floor, hand in hand, the action feeling strangely natural. “How much do you remember?” Sherlock asks, moving his hand to the centre of John’s back, taking John’s other hand in his own.

“Truthfully?” John asks, laughter lining his face. “Not much. So I thought we could just…..” He pulls Sherlock closer, releasing their joined hands, instead placing both arms around Sherlock’s body, drawing their bodies close. “Wing it.”

For a moment Sherlock hesitates before wrapping his arms loosely around John, resting the palm of one hand at the small of John’s back, the other drifting up to rest lightly between John’s shoulder blades. They sway to the music for a while, just enjoying each other’s company, the gap between them gradually decreasing until barely any space exists. 

“John?” Sherlock doesn’t need to speak loudly, they are standing so close that even a whisper can be heard. “Have you ever considered looking for a new partner?”

John looks up, making eye contact, one hand rubbing light circles on Sherlock’s back. “No.”

Sherlock frowns, his habitual denial of John’s possible feelings for him returning. “Why ever not?”

“I found them. Years ago.” John’s face remains open, even as Sherlock’s heart begins to close off. Perhaps he had been wrong, the ‘years ago’ would certainly seem to indicate so.

“Oh. Mary. Of course.”

John rubs soothingly at Sherlock’s back, tightening his hold. “No. Not Mary. I did love her, as much as I was able. Although that became harder after ….” John trails off, moving one hand to rest over Sherlock’s heart and the scar that lies near by. “But no, it wasn’t Mary. It was before her.”

“So why haven’t you made a move?” Sherlock tries to keep his words light-hearted but even he can hear the tremor in his voice.

“It’s like you said before, the timing has always been off.” John is looking at where his hand still rests against Sherlock’s chest, leaving Sherlock to wonder if John can feel how his heart is racing. “Other people got in the way, one way or another. Work got in the way.” John swallows, the effort it takes him to continue speaking obvious. “Then I lost track of them for a long - bloody awful - time.” Once again he looks at where his hand rests and Sherlock knows that John is finding the words to continue in the way that his heart beats. 

“Once I found them again I thought perhaps my feelings had changed, but they hadn’t. They really hadn’t; but I was too angry to do anything about it, too busy feeling betrayed.” John shakes his head, Sherlock moves his hand to the small of John’s back, his palm warm and reassuring and he feels John relax a little. “And then there was Mary, dear _deceptive_ Mary; I decided to settle for a life less remarkable.” He laughs, the sound bittersweet and Sherlock smooths his palm along John’s back, wishing he knew the correct way to comfort him.

“John…” Sherlock stops when John shakes his head again. He realises with some surprise that they are still gently moving to the music and their conversation is completely unobserved. For a while they simply sway to the music, allowing both men time to organise their thoughts.

“Then, when she died, I was in a really bad place.” John continues, his voice even, his focus now just over Sherlock’s shoulder. “I had no one who wanted me, needed me, except a baby I was never sure that I’d wanted……… At least that’s how I saw it from the bottom of the whiskey glass I’d crawled into. And yet, despite my screwed up brain and fucked up life, I still had feelings for this other person. It took a while but I finally realised I needed to sort myself out; not for this person, but for myself. I went back to therapy, actually worked hard at it this time and I continue to work at it; I realised how very much I love and adore my daughter and how grateful I am to have her, and I continue to work, everyday, to be the very best dad I can be.”

John turns his head suddenly, looking directly at Sherlock, his face earnest. “And then I returned home to Baker Street. And to you.”

“What will you do now? Will you approach them? Let them know how you feel?” Sherlock asks, knowing the answer but needing to hear John say it.

“Yeah. I believe so.” He licks his lips, glancing briefly at Sherlock’s. “I believe it’s time.

“And do they feel the same?” Sherlock’s asks, breathless.

“Yes.” John slides his hand up Sherlock’s chest, skimming along his neck, halting to tenderly cup Sherlock’s cheek. “Yeah, I think they do. I'm almost certain they do.” 

John stretches up on his toes, the action slow, his attention clear and Sherlock holds his breath in anticipation, his eyes falling shut.

Firm lips lightly press against full lips, someone sighs and Sherlock tightens his grip on John.

“Is this okay?” John asks, pulling slightly back to see Sherlock’s expression, his hand stroking Sherlock’s cheek.

“Very much more than okay.” Sherlock leans in to John’s touch, moving his palm to rest at the nape of John’s neck. For a long time his pale eyes flick over John’s face, reading the secrets that each feature has to tell, from the soft set of his lips to the tender look in his eyes. Finally Sherlock accepts the evidence before him. John cares for him - and deeply so.

Holding John’s gaze, Sherlock leans down and uses his light hold on John’s neck to guide him up, eyes falling shut as their lips open. His fingers drift into John’s hair as the kiss deepens, the sensations threaten to overwhelm Sherlock but he can’t stop; not now he finally has John in his arms. They move together as if this were not their first kiss but the continuation of innumerable kisses and the promise of innumerable kisses yet to come. Their tongues brush against each other, heightening the sensations, and Sherlock pulls John to him more firmly; groaning when John responds by clutching at his back, gathering Sherlock’s shirt in his hand. Some part of Sherlock becomes dimly aware that the tempo of the music has changed, no longer a romantic ballad, instead an energetic beat that requires rather more co-ordination than he currently feels capable of. Reluctantly he breaks their kiss, keeping John close and pressing an almost chaste kiss to his forehead before resting his cheek against John’s temple, his heart pounding.

“Wow.” Sherlock can feel John chuckling, a mixture of relief and elation. “You really wanted that kiss, huh?” John moves so that he can look up at Sherlock.

“You have no idea.” Sherlock answers earnestly, pressing another light kiss to John’s lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that for years.” His voice sounds rough, almost desperate and John’s eyes widen at the depth of emotion that rages through it.

“You too?” John confirms.

“For years.” Sherlock repeats, stepping back and taking John’s hand to guide him off the dance floor. “How about we forget the coffee and take a stroll in the gardens instead?”

“A walk under the stars with a tall, dark, handsome man?” John teases. “How can I refuse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn't mind a longer chapter! ;)
> 
> Thank you for all the love and support so far!


	10. Scene by Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock hums quietly in reaction to John’s touch, bringing his hand up to cover John’s before turning his head to press a kiss to John’s palm. Sherlock’s lips are slightly parted and John shivers at the sensation of warmth breath against his sensitive skin. John watches Sherlock intently as Sherlock continues his exploration. Soft kiss follows soft kiss, occasionally Sherlock’s tongue comes in to play, peeking out to lightly trace a line or scar, making John feel almost breathless at the sensation. Finally, Sherlock trails his lips over John’s fingers, tasting the tip of each one with almost unbearable slowness.

The night air is mild with a cool breeze that encourages them to stay close to each other, which is ideal for John’s purposes. He stops them just far enough away from the lights of the hotel to provide a feeling of privacy, moving so that he stands in front of Sherlock. Reaching up slowly, John lightly strokes Sherlock’s cheek; loving that he is finally allowed to do this, caress the face of the man who has long fascinated him. He trails his fingers over soft skin, feeling the merest hint of stubble, the sensation of which makes his fingertips tingle and his thoughts turn to how Sherlock might feel elsewhere…. John shakes the thoughts away. Just because Sherlock has responded eagerly to their kiss, even instigating further kisses, does not mean he will want a physical relationship and John is more than willing to honour that. 

Sherlock hums quietly in reaction to John’s touch, bringing his hand up to cover John’s before turning his head to press a kiss to John’s palm. Sherlock’s lips are slightly parted and John shivers at the sensation of warmth breath against his sensitive skin. John watches Sherlock intently as Sherlock continues his exploration. Soft kiss follows soft kiss, occasionally Sherlock’s tongue comes in to play, peeking out to lightly trace a line or scar, making John feel almost breathless at the sensation. Finally, Sherlock trails his lips over John’s fingers, tasting the tip of each one with almost unbearable slowness.

“God, Sherlock.” 

John can take it no longer and reaches up to pull Sherlock in to a searing kiss, their lips parting on contact, tongue seeking the other’s. John stumbles slightly as Sherlock wraps his arms around him, pulling a willing John against him. John becomes suddenly aware of more than just where their lips touch. Sherlock’s chest is heaving against his, warmth radiating from him in waves. John’s hips press against Sherlock and he is aware that soon a very obvious sign of his arousal will be making itself known against Sherlock’s thigh. With what feels like a colossal effort, John gently breaks the kiss and steps slightly away.

John takes a deep breath and licks his lips, once more linking their hands. “I think we should find somewhere to sit and talk. If therapy has taught me anything it is the importance of clear communication.”

John leads them to a nearby wooden bench, both of them glancing up at the stars from time to time; it is a moonless night and the stars seem to shine extra bright in the cloudless sky. For a while they sit quietly, simply admiring the beauty of the night, John’s hand warm within Sherlock’s.

“So.” Sherlock breaks the silence. “You have something to ask, something that pertains to the change in our relationship.” His head is tilted back, his gaze on the stars.

“Yes, I do.” John laughs nervously. “I’m still not very good at this sort of thing, though.” He takes a calming breath, more aware of his own breathing than ever. “It seems obvious that you are comfortable with what has happened between us so far. What I need to know is how far you are comfortable taking this? The physical side of our relationship.”

“You mean sex.” Sherlock keeps his gaze on the stars but gives John’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Yes. As I’ve hinted, several times, a sexual element isn’t mandatory for our relationship but I would find it helpful if we could establish some boundaries so that I don’t inadvertently make you feel uncomfortable or obligated. I’m in this for the long haul, whatever your answer.” John twists on the bench so that he faces Sherlock more, waiting for Sherlock to meet his gaze. “I love you. And I’m fairly certain that you love me.”

“I do, John.” Sherlock answers earnestly, his handsome face unusually open. “I love you. I’d never be able to consider something like this otherwise.” He searches John’s face, pressing a brief kiss to his lips before continuing to talk. “ But I need to be the one setting the pace at this point in our relationship and I have no clue what that pace will be in advance……” John nods in response, waiting for Sherlock to continue. “But rest assured I am interested, very interested, in exploring a sexual relationship with you.

“Yeah?” John licks his lips, his eyes hooded. “I look forward to it.” He lets the statement hang in the air for a moment before clearing his throat and asking a question that has been worrying at him since they came away. “What do you want to do about the sleeping arrangements? I’m happy to sleep in one of the armchairs, or I could see if they have another room?”

“There’s no need for that, John. The bed is more than big enough for the two of us.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured in to anything.” John holds both of Sherlock’s hands between his own smaller ones.

“Good; because I won’t.” Sherlock's face is fierce for a moment before he wilts slightly. “In all honesty, John, I’m not prepared for anything more than we have already done, not until I’ve had time to process it all. Our kisses … the embraces…have been almost overwhelming, there’s so much to catalogue, up here.” He pulls one hand out of John’s clasp to gesture at his own head; his Mind Palace. “But I want to do that whilst I’m lying in your arms, or you in mine, in that oversized bed. I think better when you are with me.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” John’s initial smile fades a little, worried about how he might react being cuddled up to Sherlock. He could end up making a fool of himself, either by acting like a teenager thinking with his cock or by waking up shaking from a nightmare. Both options are far from ideal.

“John?”

“Yes?” John breaks out of his unhappy musings at Sherlock’s voice. 

“I think you should kiss me now.”

“As usual, Sherlock, it seems you are right.” A smile curls John’s mouth once more as their lips join. The kiss is merely the prelude to a series of kisses; their mouths meeting and separating, tongues touching and parting, breaths shared and heartbeats in sync. They part on a smile and a sigh, foreheads touching. “Mmm, I could definitely get used to that.”

“Good, as I have a rather addictive personality; I’m not sure if you’ve noticed.” Sherlock teases, only half in jest. 

“Lucky me.” John can’t help stealing another kiss before leaning back.

For a while they watch the stars, stealing kisses whenever the mood takes them, the appearance of a sudden meteor shower holding them both entranced.

“Beautiful.” John whispers, in awe of the sight before him.

“Yes.” Sherlock agrees, his head tilted back, his features illuminated only by the starlight. “They really are.”

“I wasn’t talking about the meteors, Sherlock.” His voice sounds soft even to his own ears, rich with the tenderness he is feeling. Sherlock glances at John, wanting to know what he is looking at. John can tell the moment Sherlock realises that his admiring gaze is for him, and him alone. John watches as Sherlock wrestles with his reactions - disbelief, denial, sarcasm - before uttering a shy, ‘Thank you.’ The sweetness of his response makes John smile, something he seems to be doing a ridiculous amount of recently.

“Time to head back in?’ John queries, knowing that Sherlock will understand what he is really asking; whether he is ready to share their bed.

“I believe so.” 

Hand in hand, every inch the image of young love despite their age, they stroll back to the hotel, their pace unhurried. The foyer is quiet, lit with a warm subdued light that gently guides their way to the lift; the doors of which open with a muted swish and ping, welcoming John and Sherlock inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a huge thank you for all the love and comments this story is getting!! I am blown away by all the support! Thank you, you wonderful people!


	11. And so to bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a long time Sherlock remains awake, his mind busy even as his body relaxes. This morning he believed that he and John would only ever be friends; this evening he has everything he could ever want. Far more than he feels he deserves; he’s not an idiot - despite what his brother may think - he is not going to turn down a relationship with John.

“Do you want a drink before bed?” John busies himself moving the cups around, suddenly nervous now they are back in their bedroom. “ We could have a nice cup of tea. Or there’s coffee, though that’s probably not the best idea this close to…..” He forces himself to shut up, hands still busy reorganising the cups.

“No, thank you.” Long arms wrap around John’s waist from behind, warm breath rustling the hair behind his ear. “Stop procrastinating and come to bed.” John can feel the words rumble through him, making the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, his eyes briefly fluttering shut.

“Yeah..I’ll..” John licks his lips, reluctantly moving away from Sherlock, nodding his head towards the bathroom. “I’ll just, er, go and get changed. Er, yeah.” He grabs a t-shirt and some boxer shorts from the drawer before heading towards the small room.

“John?” Sherlock calls softly after him, waiting for John to turn. “It’s rather nice.” John cocks his head to the side, waiting for Sherlock to elaborate, as he always does. “The fact that I’m not the only nervous one.”

“Yeah? That’s probably bloody lucky then.” John grins sheepishly before going to get changed.

The bedroom seems suddenly empty and Sherlock listens carefully to the small sounds coming from the bathroom. He can clearly hear the sound of the toilet flushing, the taps running and the soft sounds of John getting changed; all normal homely sounds that are strangely reassuring. With these comforting sounds for company Sherlock readies himself for bed; changing into cotton pyjama bottoms and a soft cotton t-shirt, aware of how thin the fabric actually is and how little it will hide. He jolts when the bathroom door opens, startling him from his thoughts.

“All yours.” John announces, popping his dirty laundry back in his case.

“Oh, I do so hope so.” Sherlock teases, hiding his own nerves under light-hearted flirting, before heading into the bathroom. He carries out all the things he needs to do with slightly shaky hands; Sherlock knows it’s a natural mixture of his excitement and nerves, but he still takes a few deep breaths before re-entering the bedroom. 

It takes him by surprise to see John standing at the edge of the bed, looking unsure; thankfully, it takes him less than a second to deduce the reason for John’s hesitation. Obviously not all of his higher order thinking skills have been turned to mush by the unexpected events of the day.

“Take the left hand side, John.” Sherlock walks round to the right side of the bed, pulling back the covers before sliding in. When John continues to hesitate Sherlock speaks again. “Your left shoulder rarely bothers you now, apart from a little stiffness in cold or damp weather; but you still prefer to sleep so that your shoulder is to the open room; this position kept it well away from the wall in the early days of your recovery with only a single bed to sleep in. Since then you choose to sleep on the left side of a shared bed, unconsciously protecting your left shoulder and leaving your right shoulder free for a partner to rest on, should they wish to. It also means you can turn to face your bed partner, perhaps sleep facing them, with no strain being put on a shoulder you still don’t quite trust, despite the fact you have almost a full range of motion and have full strength in it.”

John smiles as he slides in to bed on the left side, immediately turning to lie on his right side, body language more relaxed now. “You know, it’s bloody fantastic when you do that.” 

Sherlock rolls on to his side, mirroring John’s position, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m glad you still feel that way. Now, slide over here and give me a goodnight kiss; we’ve both got a lot to think about.”

Needing no further prompting John moves towards Sherlock, reaching out to cup his cheek before leaning in for a kiss, allowing Sherlock to decide how involved he wants their kiss to be. Sherlock deepens the kiss, encouraging John’s tongue to meet his own, long fingers threading through John’s hair, gently holding him as they move with the kiss. Just as the kiss is cusping on too much for Sherlock, he gently breaks it; John moves to nuzzle Sherlock’s neck, his breath coming in small puffs. “Mmmm, that was a very nice goodnight kiss.” John lightly kisses Sherlock’s neck, delighting in the tiny tremor it elicits. “How do you want to do this?’

John chuckles when Sherlock pushes against his left shoulder until he is lying flat on his back. The chuckles turn into laughter as Sherlock pokes and prods at him, arranging him to his liking, finally resting his head on John’s right shoulder, his arm over John’s midriff. Still quietly laughing, John slides his arm around Sherlock, before turning his head to drop a kiss on Sherlock’s head. He moves slightly so that he is able to run his fingers through Sherlock’s soft curls before closing his eyes, relaxed and untroubled. John drifts off to the sound of Sherlock’s contented sighs.

For a long time Sherlock remains awake, his mind busy even as his body relaxes. This morning he believed that he and John would only ever be friends; this evening he has everything he could ever want. Far more than he feels he deserves; he’s not an idiot - despite what his brother may think - he is not going to turn down a relationship with John. Sherlock becomes aware that John has fallen in to a deeper sleep and carefully moves over to his side of the bed, knowing that John doesn’t respond well to being hemmed in, even in his sleep. He feels colder for the few inches between them and reaches out for John, positioning his hand so that his fingertips barely brush John’s. Sherlock closes his eyes, letting sleep come, knowing his brain will continue to catalogue, resolve and store all of the important information from the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the 'fake relationship' thing didn't last long - sorry, the boys were insistent they'd waited long enough! There a few more 'surprises' to come though, all angst free.


	12. Morning Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early morning sun peeking through the curtains rouses John and Sherlock from their sleep; their waking is slow, each man taking a moment to register his position in relation to the other. Sherlock, predictably, reacts first, gently removing himself from where he lies tangled with John, unsure whether this is something they do now.

The early morning sun peeking through the curtains rouses John and Sherlock from their sleep; their waking is slow, each man taking a moment to register his position in relation to the other. Sherlock, predictably, reacts first, gently removing himself from where he lies tangled with John, unsure whether this is something they do now. He is certain that he fell asleep on his own side of the bed, forcing himself not to embrace John, not wanting to risk triggering a nightmare. 

“Sorry, sorry.” John apologises sleepily. 

It is unclear who reached for whom overnight but John’s apology seems to imply that it was he who reached out, although Sherlock suspects John may not be the only one to blame.

“It’s alright, John.” Sherlock stretches lazily, noting the way John’s eyes widen as they skim down his body. “I suspect it’s a habit for you to reach for someone when you share a bed.”

“Um. No, not usually much for cuddling actually.” He reaches for Sherlock, twining their fingers together. “I usually end up feeling hemmed in, trapped.” 

This confirms what Sherlock had thought, but he recognises that John has more he needs to say, so he provides him with an opening. “Not even when..” Sherlock leaves the question incomplete, not wishing to bring Mary’s name in to their bed, knowing that John will understand what he means. John has always been alert soon after waking, a remnant of his army life and living and working with Sherlock. Since Rosie has been sleeping through the night and waking up ready to play and talk, he has been quick to get involved in any manner of conversation.

“No. You’d think I would have adjusted.” John brings Sherlock’s hand to his lips, lightly peppering his knuckles with kisses, the action at odds with the seriousness of the topic matter. “I lived with her before we got married, not so long after, I guess it was a couple years in total, or thereabouts. But I never did get used to being in that close a proximity. I’d wake up suddenly, sometimes unsure what woke me, sometimes from a nightmare, and it was always because she had snuggled in. Took me ages to work out that my own wife, a wife I had no reason to distrust at that time, was causing my nightmares and insomnia simply by being there. Was yet another thing that put a strain on the relationship.”

“I don’t want to ‘hem’ you in John, but I can’t guarantee I won’t seek you out in my sleep. I can sleep in the chair tonight? Looks more comfortable than some of the mattresses I’ve slept on. It wouldn’t be a hardship.” Sherlock offers, meeting John’s gaze earnestly.

“God no! It’s fine.” John moves closer to Sherlock, pulling him into an embrace before encouraging Sherlock to settle his head back on his chest; just as he had the previous night. “I actually slept really well, best I have in a long time. And if we happen to end up like that again tonight and tomorrow morning? Well, then I’d consider myself a lucky man. I don’t think it was the way I was sleeping, rather who I was sleeping with.” He runs his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, once more eliciting the lower rumble of pleasure he heard from Sherlock just before falling asleep. “You know, we have been that close before. Granted, the last time was because some arsehole with a Napoleon Complex thought it would be huge fun to drug us and tie us together, but that worked out okay. We had no choice but sleep together then, in very close proximity; that didn’t trigger a nightmare either. We worked together, communicated, solved the problem. I trust you, Sherlock. Always have.”

They stay wrapped in each others arms, John’s fingers still trailing through Sherlock’s hair as Sherlock traces abstract patterns on John’s stomach through his t-shirt, until John’s stomach rumbles.

“Seems like it’s time for breakfast. Hungry?” John queries, stroking Sherlock’s cheek before tilting his head up.

“I could eat, but first..” 

Sherlock moves up the bed slightly so that their lips are on the same level. He arranges John’s body to his own liking - something John is beginning to suspect may happen quite frequently - so that their upper bodies lay together at a slight angle, his weight supported on bent arms, before dipping his head to steal a brief morning kiss. He smiles down at John, “What were we thinking, wasting time on talking?” He leans back down, stealing another kiss. He presses their lips together, parting his lips, teasing at John’s with light nips until he does the same. Their tongues seek each other out, and John pulls Sherlock closer to him, his arms tight around Sherlock’s back with one hand resting lightly on the nape of his neck. Sherlock kisses the same way he does everything; with focus, intensity. With passion. It takes John’s breath away and he moans in to their kiss, Sherlock responds with ardour, pressing his body close against John’s, eliciting another moan. It feels like far too soon when Sherlock pulls out of the kiss, leaving them both panting, he presses his forehead against John’s, eyes closed, as he regains control of his body and breathing. John rubs his hand up and down Sherlock’s back, gently rumpling his t-shirt, calming them both. 

They part with a sigh, Sherlock flopping on to his back briefly before moving gracefully to a seated position. John rolls on to his side, a smile on his face, openly admiring the way Sherlock’s t-shirt leaves little to the imagination; the thin material warmed by the colour of skin, the sleeves ending on the curve of his biceps, accentuating their usually hidden strength. Sherlock stretches, slow and sinuous, and John admires the movement of his back under the fabric, the way the muscles bunch and stretch with each little movement. Sherlock stands, still stretching and heads to the bathroom, John’ admiring eyes on him all the way. Surprised laughter bursts from him when Sherlock pauses at the bathroom door, turns to face him and tugs the edge of his pyjama pants down, providing John with a tempting flash of skin before turning to walk into the bathroom, an exaggerated sway to his hips.

John can hear Sherlock’s deep chuckles over the sound of the shower being turned on and he can’t stop the daft smile it evokes. He knows Sherlock wasn’t inviting him in to the shower, it’s not the right time for that. It was a glimpse of a flirtatious Sherlock; and what a glimpse it was! 

Sherlock is undeniably attractive; dark curly hair with hidden auburn highlights, a face that taken feature by feature should be odd, but blends the angled, ever-changing, eyes, the high cheekbones, the strong nose, the soft jawline and a full lower lip coupled with a a perfectly defined upper lip, into a face of such captivating beauty and allure that John has never seen its equal. A lithely muscled body, slim of waist, broad of shoulder; graceful arms and elegant hands, hands equally capable of pleasure or pain. Long, strong legs and feet, equally capable of agitated strides and nimble manoeuvres; and a backside that has long attracted John’s attention, rounded and well-muscled. Even with all these undeniable attractions, it is not the glimpse of Sherlock’s body that has John reeling; it is from the light-hearted laughter, the shy smiles, the kisses of such intensity that they make John breathless, the way that he is permitted, no - _invited_ \- to see it all. It is the privilege of being allowed to see Sherlock with all his barriers down. To see Sherlock as a man in love.


	13. Breakfast and Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m missing something, John. I thought so last night too but I thought that was because of you; because of the feelings we had both been hiding.” Sherlock rests his hand over John’s, silently reassuring him that he isn’t upset for being unknowingly misled. “But I was wrong. These people are all wrong. The setting is all wrong. The answer is right in front of me but I can’t see it!”
> 
> “You’ll work it out, Sherlock. You always do.”

They head down to breakfast, hand in hand, smiling and chatting quietly, nodding their greetings at other hotel residents. Any one seeing them would be in no doubt that they were there for a weekend break, nothing more. As usual, John has dressed casually in jeans and a shirt; much to John’s surprise, Sherlock has dressed in a similar manner.

“I still can’t believe you’re wearing jeans.” John sips his morning coffee, his free hand twitching with the temptation to run his fingers along the outside seam of the jeans in question.

“For god’s sake John, try and come up with something new to say.” Despite the apparent impatience of his words, Sherlock is smiling whilst he busies himself spreading butter on his toast.

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you wearing jeans.” John continues, obviously not prepared to let the issue go any time soon.

“No?” Sherlock passes John the jam, their movements instinctive after years of cohabitation. “Maybe you need to work on your memory, sounds like it’s failing you in your old age.”

“Oi you, less of the old!” John replies good-naturedly, licking some jam off his thumb. “I’m not that much older than you.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock answers distractedly, sipping his coffee, eyes flicking around the room, observing the other diners. 

“I’m not complaining about the jeans, they do amazing things to your backside.” John grins, enjoying the hint of a blush adorning Sherlock’s cheeks and effectively ending the jeans discussion. 

Toast is followed by a cooked breakfast, albeit a small one for Sherlock, an indulgence they rarely get to enjoy. John takes his time eating his food, savouring the novelty of not rushing after a toddler or a lanky detective. 

Sherlock spends the time further studying the other diners in the room, most are the same people he had seen the previous evening. Some expected faces are missing, he concludes they are still asleep or early risers who are making the most of the nice weather or the hotel gym. A few new arrivals drift in as the morning progresses, they make use of the complimentary breakfast bar; most choosing either orange juice or coffee before moving to sit on their own, perusing their newspapers. 

John and Sherlock draw their breakfast out a little longer by ordering more coffee; coffee that even Sherlock has to admit is superb. Sherlock drinks and continues to watch the room whilst John reads one of the free newspapers. Something is niggling at Sherlock’s brain, something about these people, but what? What is it? His gaze flits around the room again, deducing as much as he can before moving on to the next person. He only becomes conscious of the fact that he is almost out of his chair and pressing his fingers to his temples when John gently pats his thigh, drawing his attention back.

“Sherlock? What is it?” John leaves his hand resting on Sherlock’s thigh, not distracting him, but grounding him, bringing him balance.

“I’m missing something, John. I thought so last night too but I thought that was because of you; because of the feelings we had both been hiding.” Sherlock rests his hand over John’s, silently reassuring him that he isn’t upset for being unknowingly misled. “But I was wrong. These people are all wrong. The setting is all wrong. The answer is right in front of me but I can’t see it!”

“You’ll work it out, Sherlock. You always do.” John takes one of Sherlock’s hands between both of his and leans in. “Anything I can do?”

“No, I don’t believe so. I think the best thing we can do now is carry on with our romantic weekend. Although now there’s no need for us to only act the couple.” Sherlock’s voice is quiet, intimate.

“Lucky us. What do you suggest we do? I guess we should hang around here?” John queries.

“No, if we are seen just loitering around the hotel foyer all day it will rather put our cover story in doubt. So, what do you suggest we do?” The tone is playfully flirtatious but John can read the nervousness there too.

“I think we should take advantage of the lovely weather whilst we’ve got it and go for another walk, perhaps visit the bees again. Then we should ensure we are back here for a late lunch, giving you time to observe everyone again, see if you can work out what it is that you’re missing.” John licks his lips, nervous. “Then we will see what the afternoon brings. How does that sound?”

“Fancying another nap in the meadow?” Sherlock teases, reminding John of his impromptu sleep the previous day.

“Cheeky sod! No, if you want to go back and see the bees I’ll take a book with me, lose myself in a story for a while.” John stands, adjusting his grip on Sherlock’s hand so that they are linked. He keeps hold as Sherlock stands, a graceful unfolding of long limbs, before using his hold to bring Sherlock closer. Sherlock gets the hint, dipping down to meet the expected kiss halfway; he is not disappointed, the kiss is chaste because of where they are, but no less addictive for it.

They walk hand in hand, the action so natural to them both that they could have been doing so for years, stopping at the concierge desk.

“Good morning Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson. How are you enjoying your stay so far?” The concierge is the same one from their arrival, who evidently has an excellent memory.

“Very much, thank you.” Sherlock answers, unusually polite. “It’s everything I ever hoped for. I was wondering, though, if you have a beekeeper? I saw some bee hives out on the far meadow yesterday, are they to do with the hotel?”

“Yes sir. Our beekeeper, Mr. Harris, is on site today; I can give him a call, arrange a meeting, if you wish. I hope there is nothing wrong?” The slightly furrowed brow is the only outward sign that the concierge is worried.

“Everything is fine, more than fine.” John rushes to reassure him. “My boyfriend here is a little obsessed with bees -“

“I’m not obsessed, John.” Sherlock interrupts, tugging slightly on John’s arm.

“Yes, you are! You’ve got bees printed on mugs, bees pinned to boards, bee paintings and photographs, countless bee books and you bought Rosie her first cuddly toy - a bee!” John is laughing now. “As I was saying, my boyfriend is a little obsessed with bees and I know he would love to get a closer look at yours, if your beekeeper would allow it.” 

“I’m sure he would, Doctor Watson, I know he, like myself, is an avid fan of your blog.” The concierge relaxes, his easy smile returning. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Any chance of a picnic blanket I could use?”

“Of course sir. It may take a few minutes to arrange, if you don’t mind the wait?”

“That’s okay, I need to nip up to the room and get my book anyway.” John leaves Sherlock chatting whilst he goes back to their room. He returns in less than five minutes, surprised to see Sherlock still chatting amicably with the concierge. He greets Sherlock with a kiss, receiving one of Sherlock’s soft smiles in response.

“Martin here says that Mr. Harris will meet me in the meadow, he is very happy to show me his bees.” Sherlock’s happiness is almost palpable. Still smiling, he hands John a chequered blanket, offering the concierge a brief farewell before striding off. Making a definite _beeline_ to the meadow, John thinks, stifling a giggle.


	14. Meadow Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “John? You know it won’t always be like this? I won’t always be like this?” Sherlock finally replies earnestly. “I’ll still get lost in the work. Still want to spend time on my experiments. Still be an arsehole from time to time.”

“How’s the book?” Sherlock asks, reclining next to John, shading his eyes against the sun. 

“Yeah, not too bad. Some good characters, couple of compelling twists in the story; I’m only about half way through but I think it’s a story worth finishing.” John puts his book down and turns onto his side so that he can see Sherlock more easily, admiring the way the sun brings out the warm auburn tones in Sherlock’s hair. “How were the bees?”

“Fascinating.” Sherlock turns to mirror John’s position, his eyes sparkling. “No matter how much I think I know about them, there’s always more to learn. Such amazing creatures, so complex and sociable too. I could quite happily spend my retirement years living in a cottage somewhere in the country, as long as I have some bees. I’d spend hours studying them, caring for them.”

“Just the bees?” John asks, biting on his lower lip, picking at the weave on the picnic blanket.

“I..” Sherlock swallows, glancing away before studying John’s face again. “I didn’t want to presume…..”

“This is it, Sherlock. I’m in this, with you, for the long haul. I thought you understood that.” John gives Sherlock time to process his words, watching the way the light catches the movement of his eyelashes.

“John? You know it won’t always be like this? I won’t always be like this?” Sherlock finally replies earnestly. “I’ll still get lost in the work. Still want to spend time on my experiments. Still be an arsehole from time to time.”

“Good.” John answers emphatically, needing to make Sherlock understand. “Because I’ll still be there, getting lost in the work alongside you. Still falling asleep in my chair of an evening. And I’ll still be an arsehole too.” He reaches out, running his hand down Sherlock’s arm before weaving their fingers together. “I don't want some idealised Sherlock. I want the Sherlock I fell in love with. The man who throws tantrums on the sofa, who tortures his violin, who thinks that almost everyone is an idiot.” Once again he pauses, allowing Sherlock processing time, before continuing, his voice quiet but clear. “The man who plays the most beautiful music in the world when he knows I am struggling to sleep. The man who always has a cup of a tea ready for me when it’s all been just a bit too much. The man who ensures that I eat, even when we’re on a case. The man I'm raising a daughter with - our daughter, Sherlock. The man I love.”

“God, John.” Before John has even had time to draw breath to reply he is flat on his back and being kissed to within an inch of his life. It takes him less than a second to respond, and enthusiastically at that. He wraps his arms around Sherlock, pulling him flush against him, groaning as Sherlock’s full weight bears down on him, the feeling incomparable. Sherlock squirms against him, the kiss becoming desperate as arousal floods through them both, the physical proof of which John can feel in the desperateness of their kiss and the growing hardness being pressed against his own. He loses himself in the kiss and sensation, clutching Sherlock to him, fingers scrabbling against Sherlock’s back, the thin fabric of his shirt no barrier to the warmth of his skin. Sherlock emits a high sound, something akin to a whine to John’s ears and it is this noise that brings him back to being aware of their surroundings and he reluctantly pulls out of the kiss. 

“Sherlock.” John’s voice is gravelly, breathless and before he can say anything more Sherlock chases his lips for another kiss. “Sherlock. Love, we can’t do this here -.” His words are cut short as Sherlock presses their lips together again, his hips starting to undulate against John’s. “Sherlock.” John manages. “We need to stop. As much as I really, really want to carry on, this isn’t exactly a private place.”

Sherlock pulls back a little, his breath gusting over John’s face in small gasps. “Yes, you’re right.” He rolls so his weight is no longer on John, surreptitiously adjusting himself in his jeans. “I feel like I should apologise.”

“Because you kissed me? Christ, you never need to apologise for kissing me.” He huffs out a laugh. “Especially like that. Wow.” He laughs again, the laughter gradually turning into a giggle, before long the sound of a deep baritone chuckle joins it.

“Good to know.” Sherlock’s chuckles die off and he grows serious. “I am sorry though, John. I feel like I’ve rather led you on. I’m not sure how far I could have taken ….” He trails off.

“God no, Sherlock.” All of sudden John is sitting up, his face serious, his attention fixed solely on Sherlock. “You haven’t led me on. You have a right to say no, to call a halt to things, at any point. As can I. If we never go any further than this, I’ll be happy. If we never go this far again, I’ll still be happy.”

“I want to, though.” Sherlock replies. “As I said before, I want to try everything with you. Absolutely everything. I just worry that my body is going to react before my brain has caught up. You have to understand John, my brain has always been the fastest thing about me. At times I’ve had to listen to my heart, but only after my brain has had its say.”

“I know, Love. I know.” John cups Sherlock’s cheek. “We’ll work it out. Trust me.”

“I do, John. Always have.” He leans in and they share another kiss, as sweet as the previous were passionate. 

“Mmmm,” John sighs when they break apart again, his fingers trailing through Sherlock’s hair. “As nice as this, I think we should head back in, grab some lunch whilst we can.”

“Thinking with your stomach again?” Sherlock teases, resting his head on John’s shoulder, his fingers tracing a path over John’s sternum.

“No. I..” John clears his throat, the sound loud in Sherlock’s ear. “We should eat a proper meal now as I have something planned for tonight and we won’t be here for dinner; although we could make use of room service afterwards.”

Sherlock alters his position so he can see John’s face clearly. “Oh yes? Can I ask what?”

John smiles up at him, his handsome face relaxed. “Can’t you deduce it?”

“I probably could, but I think you’d rather it was a surprise.” 

“Thanks. Just let me say that we will be going out for the evening, and I had it all planned even before the change in our relationship.” John cups Sherlock’s face, gently rubbing his thumb over Sherlock’s cheek. “And no, it’s not some locked room mystery.” He teases, stealing a final kiss. Sherlock moves with enviable grace, pulling John up to stand beside him before gathering the picnic blanket with swift, efficient movements.


	15. Saturday surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you boys enjoying your time away? Not working too hard for Mr. Holmes I hope?” Mrs. Hudson enquires, her face turned to where Rosie is obviously playing just off-screen.
> 
> “Yes, Mrs. Hudson. We’re having a lovely time.” John answers, deliberately ignoring her last question.
> 
> Something in his voice draws Mrs. Hudson’s shrewd gaze, her focus flits from John’s face to Sherlock’s face and everything in-between, including the arm now more around John than on his chair. “So I see! About time too, I’d almost given up.” Mrs. Hudson claps her hands together with glee.

“I’m going to give Rosie a quick call, see how she’s doing, before we head down for lunch.” John says, opening his laptop, entering his password and accessing Zoom. “Want to say hello?”

Sherlock nods in response, settling down next to John, his arm along the back of the chair, as the call rings through. Before long, the cheery face of Mrs. Hudson appears on their screen, perched on her lap and grinning widely is a happy, if somewhat dirty, Rosie Watson.

“Daddy! Sherwock!” She squeals happily, waving so enthusiastically she almost hits Mrs. Hudson in the face. 

“Hello, sweetheart. You two look like you’ve been having fun!” John grins, happy to see his little girl so joyful.

“Yes, we’ve been making -“ Mrs. Hudson is cut off by an overexcited Rosie shouting, ‘cakes, cakes,’ making both men laugh. “Yes, chocolate cupcakes. I may have let this one eat too much of the mix though.” Mrs. Hudson wipes half-heartedly at Rosie’s face with a cotton hanky. “Luckily, Molly is coming to take this little monster out soon, run off all that energy.”

“I hope so, for your sake!” John laughs, leaning back in his chair and the comforting feel of Sherlock’s arm. “Are you having fun, Rosie posy?”

“Yes Daddy!” John listens as his daughter gives a long, if somewhat hard to understand, description of everything she has been up to. Sherlock asks her a few pertinent questions, eliciting more excited squeals and laughter. Eventually, Rosie grows bored with their conversation and starts wriggling to get out of Mrs. Hudson’s arms.

“Looks like it’s time for us to say goodbye. Bye Rosie. Love you.” John calls out as his daughter moves out of camera shot. Sherlock manages a brief, ‘Goodbye, Watson.’ before she is completely gone.

“Are you boys enjoying your time away? Not working too hard for Mr. Holmes I hope?” Mrs. Hudson enquires, her face turned to where Rosie is obviously playing just off-screen.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. We’re having a lovely time.” John answers, deliberately ignoring her last question.

Something in his voice draws Mrs. Hudson’s shrewd gaze, her focus flits from John’s face to Sherlock’s face and everything in-between, including the arm now more around John than on his chair. “So I see! About time too, I’d almost given up.” Mrs. Hudson claps her hands together with glee.

“Well, we got there in the end.” John presses an impulsive kiss on Sherlock’s cheek, drawing another little noise of pure happiness from Mrs. Hudson. “Didn’t we Love?” He asks, turning to Sherlock who nods in agreement, his cheeks stained a delicate pink.

“I’m going to leave you two boys to it, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to keep you occupied!” Before either man has a chance to respond Mrs. Hudson ends their call.

‘I think it’s a fair deduction to say that we meet with her approval.” Sherlock says after a few seconds, breaking the drawn-out silence.

“I think so. Come on _boyfriend_ , let’s go and have some lunch.” John teases, grabbing Sherlock’s hand and pulling him out of the room.

“Boyfriend - do you have to use that juvenile terminology?” Sherlock wrinkles his nose in distaste but does not let go of John’s hand as they wait for the lift.

“What would you suggest? Partners? Sweethearts?” John pauses, uttering his final suggestion just as the lift doors open. “Lovers?”

The surprised look that they get from the middle-aged couple receives only a good-natured smile from John, no-one comments on the flush of colour that rides high on Sherlock’s cheekbones.

The moment the door opens onto the foyer the other couple leave, Sherlock takes a moment to ensure they are alone before sliding his arm around John’s waist, setting the pace of their slow walk. A pace that is perfect for intimate conversation, leaning down Sherlock positions his lips so that they just brush John’s ear.

“I choose the term …. _lovers_ ……but we are not.” He exhales gently. “Yet.” 

John stumbles slightly at Sherlock’s words, this small falter is extremely gratifying for Sherlock. To know that he has the ability to make John feel that way with just a simple touch, some breathed words, is enough to make Sherlock feel much more able to deal with the way their relationship is changing. To know that John is equally affected by Sherlock’s touch, Sherlock’s words, as he is by John’s, is strangely liberating. Their relationship will be one of equals, neither having more power than the other. His own lack of physical experience is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things; it doesn’t make him lesser than anyone else; than John. They will learn each other, together; learn how to make each other pant, gasp, writhe and sigh, over and over again. The thought brings heat to his cheeks and sets his heart racing; it’s a different kind of high to that which he is used to but one he knows he will become addicted to. An addiction, Sherlock thinks, that John will approve of.

Sherlock is so used to being lost in his thoughts and carrying on with everyday tasks that he has not faltered in his step, arriving at the restaurant with his arm still wrapped around John. John, used to Sherlock losing himself in his mind palace, simply guides him to his seat and sets a menu in front of him, surprised when Sherlock blinks and smiles at him.

“What do you fancy?” John asks, looking at his menu briefly, before returning his gaze to Sherlock, surprised at the heat he can see in Sherlock’s eyes.

“You.” Sherlock rests his chin on one hand, meeting John’s gaze. 

John laughs, surprised at the playful flirting, but receptive nonetheless. “To eat.”

“I repeat …..” Sherlock lets his gaze travel over John, lingering on his lips, before travelling slowly down his body.

“I look forward to it.” John responds, his voice husky, shivering slightly under Sherlock’s scrutiny. He clears his throat, before purposely changing the direction of the conversation to something more suitable to a public dining area. “I’m going to start with the cream of tomato soup, then I’m thinking either the vegetarian cottage pie or the vegetable lasagna.”

Sherlock mumbles something in response before turning his attention back to the room, eyes narrowed. When the waiter arrives he orders a light soup and a noodle salad, his attention still on the other diners. John leaves him to it, knowing this is something Sherlock needs to do, something that comes naturally to him. 

They eat in companionable quiet, John notes with satisfaction that Sherlock finishes most of his meal, even if his attention is elsewhere and the action of eating is merely an automatic response to having food in front of him. 

John is just leaning back in his chair, enjoying his coffee, when Sherlock starts to speak, well, mutter really, John concedes.

“Who are these people? Who?” Sherlock’s sharp eyes are darting around rapidly, flitting from person to person, his brow heavily furrowed. “There’s five, no seven, people here that could possibly be of importance to Mycroft. So who are the rest of these people? Who? Why did Mycroft give me their files?” The last is directed at John, although not expectant of an answer.

“Maybe they’re just people holidaying here? People Mycroft thought might be of interest?” John answers off-handedly. A little too off-handedly.

This response meets with narrowed eyes and intense focus, all centred on John. John swallows but does not look away, merely raising his chin, meeting Sherlock, look for look. “You know something. What do you know?”

John remains silent, letting Sherlock deduce what he will.

“Oh!” Sherlock’s eyes widen in realisation, the next second he is standing, pulling John up alongside him.

“Hey!” John protests, making a grab for his coffee. “Where are you dragging me off to? At least let me finish my …”

“We’re going back to our room. Now.” Sherlock tugs on John’s arm, walking them at a brisk rate to the lift.

“What? Why? I’ve still got …” John falls silent, realising he isn’t go to win this one.


	16. You were told, but did you listen?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did he confide in you? And why did you choose this particular weekend to tell me how you felt?”
> 
> “Coincidence?” John remains in his original position, a small smile playing over his lips, his eyes sparkling.
> 
> “No. The universe is rarely so lazy."

Sherlock waits, albeit impatiently, until they are back in their room before he starts speaking again, immediately starting to pace their room as he does so, to the window and back to John, time and again. His eyes flash as he runs his hands through his hair, every inch of him screaming agitated frustration. He is so close to knowing what is going on, _so close_ ; he thought he knew what it was when they were in the dining room but no, he is still missing something. Something that is the key to this whole weekend.

“Tell me who these people are. For some reason you know.” Sherlock demands, halting in front of John, well inside his personal space, focus solely on him.

“They're the people Mycroft told you he wanted watched.” John answers calmly, face tipped up slightly, undergoing Sherlock’s intense scrutiny without flinching or complaint.

“Yes, some of them are.” Sherlock concedes, eyes never leaving John’s face. “But who are the others? Mycroft gave me a file on twenty people; only seven of whom have any connection with Mycroft. A connection that is tenuous at best. For the rest of the people the only thing they have in common is the fact they are _here_. So, I repeat, who are they?” He questions, enunciating slowly and clearly.

“Precisely that.” John replies evenly, his expression open. “People who are here for the weekend. Mycroft used his influence as a ‘minor government official’ to gain access to the guest list, giving you the names of a select few.”

“And why do you know this, when I do not?” Sherlock breaks away to start pacing again, his mind working on making connections almost too fast for him to process. “Why did he confide in you? And why did you choose this particular weekend to tell me how you felt?”

“Coincidence?” John remains in his original position, a small smile playing over his lips, his eyes sparkling.

“No. The universe is rarely so lazy. This is purposeful, concocted between you and Mycroft.” He stops once again in front of John, eyes narrowed. “My brother playing matchmaker?” Suddenly his eyes widen, his mouth forming a small ‘O’ of surprise. “No, that was all you. You thought you'd take the opportunity to use this weekend to conduct an experiment of your own? Use the fact that we were required to act as a couple to ‘test the waters’, so to speak.” Sherlock remains almost nose to nose with John but his body language is no longer confrontational. “How deliciously devious of you.” Sherlock’s serious demeanour alters to one of elated delight

“I knew you'd get it Sherlock.” John’s smile broadens, his face alight with happiness. “I thought if you weren't interested then you'd let me know, and probably in no uncertain terms. But if you were …..” He swallows, still smiling, his eyes soft, loving. “If you were interested, then you could respond to my, admittedly clumsy, advances; encouraging them if you wanted to.” Slowly he takes Sherlock’s hand in his own before guiding them over to sit on the edge of the plush bed. “I admit it wasn't the most sophisticated of plans and, I admit, I was somewhat worried about the morality of it; but I was sure that I’d seen flickers of interest from you.” He looks at their linked hands, seemingly fascinated by the sight of their fingers entwined, before looking back up. “I dropped hints. On the train I talked about how I would want to spend a weekend away with the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“How fortuitous that Mycroft wanted us in attendance at this event.” 

“Yeah, about that ….” John looks unusually shifty. “There’s usually a meeting going on somewhere so, I, err,” He clears his throat before continuing. “I took the opportunity to approach Mycroft a month or two ago to see what was coming up. He, naturally, refused to tell me anything.” 

“Naturally.” Sherlock agrees, curious to hear how on earth his brother got involved.

“So, I had to admit to him why I wanted to know. Which led to a discussion on how I felt about you; how I thought you felt about me…. That was a seriously awkward conversation.” John confesses, half laughing. “Once he knew, and had finished rolling his eyes and looking vaguely disgusted, he suggested a few different dates and venues. I researched the hotels and what was available in the area, finally deciding on this one. Mycroft then agreed to spin together the need for you to be in attendance this weekend, for that attendance to be as part of a romantic couple, knowing that you'd only feel comfortable taking me, and here we are.”

“And what did he ask for in return?” Sherlock asks, knowing that Mycroft never does anything for free.

“Nothing.” John is interrupted by a very undignified snort. “Yeah, I was surprised too. He said he was willing to help as he found our ‘mutual pining’ both ‘tedious’ and ‘pointless’ and that he hoped this meant we would - and I’m paraphrasing here - bugger off and bloody leave him alone!”

“That’s unlikely to happen.” Sherlock is quiet for a moment, thinking things for over. “So, this is all on Mycroft’s bankroll?” Sherlock has mixed emotions about this; on the one hand, he has always been free and easy with Mycroft’s money, but on the other hand, it somehow feels wrong that John is romancing him on his brother’s payroll.

“No. I’m paying for this.” John smiles softly, his eyes full of warmth as he studies Sherlock’s face. “You were told, but did you listen? I did say that this is how I’d romance someone I was in a relationship with.”

“John…” Sherlock begins to protest, unhappy about how much this weekend must be costing him.

“No.” John interrupts. “I wanted to do this for you. Even if our relationship stayed as it was, I still wanted to do this. We deserved a weekend away. _You_ deserved a weekend away.” He alters his hold on Sherlock’s hand, his face open and earnest. “If a case, a _real_ case, had come up then I would have happily accompanied you on that. The Work comes first, as it should.”

“You really are an idiot, John.” Sherlock lifts their joined hands and trails his lips over the back of John’s hand, allowing his parted lips to drag slightly over the skin, causing John to shiver in reaction. “When will you realise you are an integral part of the Work?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh you clever lot! Guessing the twist (or at least some of it) ages ago! I'd like to think it was my clever (eye roll) writing but I know it's just that we are an amazingly intelligent fandom! I had huge fun reading all those lovely comments when you were guessing, I really wanted to jump up and down and talk it all through with you! If you ever want a chat I am on twitter, dee@Thorntonsheart, just tag me or DM and I'll answer!
> 
> Dee


	17. Afternoon Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock nuzzles his hot face in to the curve of John’s neck as he gently squeezes John through his jeans, momentarily overwhelmed. After a few seconds he is able to watch his hand once more. It feels strangely surreal for this to be happening in the middle of the afternoon with light streaming in from the windows. In all his fantasies, in all his dreams, any sexual encounter had happened under the cover of night, the darkness only dimly illuminated; they'd seemed apt as he'd had to keep them buried so deep inside him that no light ever shone upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter than usual and also where it takes a turn to the Mature side of things.

John doesn't get the chance to respond before Sherlock is kissing him.Sherlock only meant for the kiss to be simple, and initially it is, but the look on John’s face draws him back in.Once more he presses their lips together, moving slightly away before leaning in again for another kiss, this one lingers and he allows his lips to part slightly, encouraging John to mirror him.Heat floods through him and he can feel his heart accelerating but all he can focus on is the taste of John’s lips, his mouth, and Sherlock deepens the kiss, nudging John’s lips further apart.John moans in to the kiss and Sherlock brings his free hand up to cup John’s face, he can feel the way that John’s jaw moves as the kiss deepens even further and he releases his other hand from John’s grasp, moving it up to clutch at the nape of John’s neck, his fingers sliding in to John’s hair, tilting his head up and guiding him deeper in to the kiss.

Keeping his hand on John’s neck, Sherlock moves off the bed, his body remaining angled over John’s.This change of position encourages John to tilt his head further back, stretching his body up.The altered angle leaves John slightly off balance and he places his hands flat on the bed behind him.John’s breath gusts over Sherlock’s cheek in short pants and he makes no attempt to move out of their embrace.Sherlock leans further over John, making him recline further until John scrambles backwards on the bed, their lips still joined.Sherlock follows him on to the bed, long limbs easily allowing him to keep up with John’s desperate manoeuvring.This repositioning leaves him balanced over John, one hand still wrapped around the nape of John’s neck, the other resting near John’s shoulder, keeping Sherlock’s upper body raised; his legs are both slightly bent, one on the outside of John’s left leg, the other nestled between John’s slightly spread legs.The backward movement had caused their kisses to ease and now Sherlock uses their new positioning to deepen their kiss once more.He can feel the way that John is pushing up into the kiss, his neck muscles tensing under Sherlock’s clasping palm; this knowledge, that John is as eager, as desperate, as him pulls Sherlock in even further.Each touch of lips and tongue, each sigh and whisper of breath against his skin just heightens each and every sensation.

Sherlock releases his hold on the nape of John’s neck, instead sliding his hand round to cup the side, his thumb coming up to rest on the hinge of John’s jaw, moaning at the way it moves beneath his touch as John deepens the kiss further.Sherlock allows his weight to rest half on John, John’s thigh pushing firmly against his very interested cock, eliciting a shudder.This time it is John who groans, wriggling to get both arms around Sherlock, clutching at his back to pull him even closer.Sherlock heart races as he trails his hand over John’s chest, pressing firmly over the pectoral causing John to press up in to his touch when Sherlock pinches lightly at his nipple.His hips are pressing rhythmically against John’s leg and he can feel the rise and fall of John’s own hips as their arousal grows. 

John breaks the kiss to gasp in a few heavy breaths as Sherlock kisses along his jawline, nipping sporadically.Sherlock runs his hand further down John’s body,stopping on tense stomach muscles briefly before placing his hand deliberately over John’s cock.The denim covering it does surprisingly little to hide the size and shape of him, the heat seeping through to his palm.He pauses his nibbling of John’s neck and jaw to glance down at where his hand rests, surprised at his own audacity.

“You don't need to stop if you don't want to.”John pants, his hand moves to clutch at Sherlock’s hip, encouraging him to continue rocking against him.

Sherlock nuzzles his hot face in to the curve of John’s neck as he gently squeezes John through his jeans, momentarily overwhelmed.After a few seconds he is able to watch his hand once more. It feels strangely surreal for this to be happening in the middle of the afternoon with light streaming in from the windows.In all his fantasies, in all his dreams, any sexual encounter had happened under the cover of night, the darkness only dimly illuminated; they'd seemed apt as he'd had to keep them buried so deep inside him that no light ever shone upon them.

Sherlock watches as he moves his hand over the outline of John’s cock, moving it along the length of him , sometimes with a light touch, sometimes with a firm pressure.The sounds that John makes in response sends jolts of intense pleasure through Sherlock and he thrusts more firmly against John’s thigh, cursing the fact that he is wearing jeans, today of all days, but not caring to do anything about it.Slowly, barely believing his bravery, Sherlock undoes the buckle of John’s belt, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room.His long fingers deftly open John’s zip, he swallows against the saliva that has gathered in his mouth, aware of the way that John grips harder at his hip, their arms brushing but not impeding.

The zip parts, revealing the straining material of John’s boxers, a small damp spot testimony to John’s arousal.For long seconds Sherlock watches the way that the movement of John’s hips stretches the material further before sliding his slim hand under the waistband of John’s underwear.He closes his eyes at finally being skin on skin as his hand closes round John’s length, echoing John’s sound of bliss.His hand begins to move again, it’s a simple slow pumping motion but it soon has John groaning and writhing, opening his eyes Sherlock adjusts his position so that he can see what he is doing, altering the angle of his wrist to move the material of John’s underwear away, giving Sherlock a clear view.He barely notices the way his hips continue to thrust against John’s thigh, lost in the sight of his hand on John’s penis, of the way they fit together so perfectly.

“Do you want me to….?”John gasps, his offer of reciprocation implicit.

“No, just let me…..”Sherlock answers, his words breathless and almost stuttered out.

“With pleasure.” 

Sherlock alters his grip, making it looser, still moving his hand rhythmically and listens intently to the sounds that John makes in response.He adjusts his grip, this time holding John more firmly, this elicits a moan of approval and he presses a firm, if fleeting, kiss to John’s jaw before returning his focus to his hand.He experiments with his movements, listening to John’s reactions, adjusting his grip until John is almost constantly moaning.Sherlock rubs the palm of his hand over the head of John’s cock, groaning at the wetness he encounters.It is this knowledge, that John is so aroused - by him - that he is producing pre-ejaculate already, that finally allows Sherlock to let go of the careful control he has retained until this point.He pushes back up so that he can kiss John again, not ceasing his hand movements.The kiss is searing, deep and probing and Sherlock is dizzy with it, knowing that he will always want this passion, amazed that he lived this long without it, knowing that he is only feeling this way because of John.He becomes very aware of the way his cock is trapped inside his jeans, of the shock of sensation that shoots through him every time he thrusts against John’s firm thigh, the way his underwear rubs damply against him.

“Oh John, the things I want to do to you.” Sherlock’s words draw a long groan out of John and a pulse of wetness against his hand.

“Tell me.”John gasps, desperate.“God. Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“I want to explore your body, inch by gorgeous inch.With my fingertips, with my lips, with my tongue.”Sherlock runs his tongue over the tendons standing out in John’s neck, the slight taste of salt on damp skin making his mouth water further.“I want to feel your nipples bud beneath my fingers, beneath my lips.”He delivers a quick nip to the area and John bucks in response.“I want to cover your neck in open-mouthed kisses, to feel your racing pulse against my tongue.”He nuzzles in, pressing his tongue against John’s pulse point, his eyes fluttering at the sensation.

Sherlock closes his eyes and kisses along John’s neck, sucking lightly from time to time, even as his hips continue their determined rocking against John’s thigh.The room is silent except for their heavy breathing and this sudden quiet allows Sherlock to come to a realisation,John has encouraged him to talk about what he wants because he knows that he needs to involve Sherlock’s brain, that he not only needs to make love to Sherlock’s body but to his mind too.The realisation drags a groan out of Sherlock and he kisses John deeply, their tongues dancing together before pulling away to look at John’s flushed face and starting to speak again.

“I want to see the way you react when I trail my fingers over you, then take the same path with my tongue, tasting you.I want to feel you through your trousers whilst you are still soft, to feel the heat of you as you grow hard in my hand.’He squeezes John, watching with delight as John’s eyelids flutter, the golden lashes shining in the afternoon sunlight.‘I want to smell every part of you, every hill and valley.”Sherlock leans in slowly before lightly trailing his nose up John’s neck, over his jawline, to the sensitive point behind his ear, before pulling back to face John once more. “I want to run my nose along the crease of your groin.I want to wrap you in my palm, make you sigh and sob.I want to feel the way you leak and throb.”

John momentarily closes his eyes at those words and Sherlock is once again amazed that he is allowed to have this with John.When John opens his eyes once more he looks at Sherlock with such love that Sherlock struggles to start talking again.

‘I want to taste you from the moment you grow hard, to the moment you ejaculate.I want to savour the taste and texture of your semen in my mouth, down my throat.”He swallows, hard, distantly aware of the ache in his thighs and the throb in his groin. “I want to have my fingers inside you, to give you such pleasure that you come untouched.”John bucks up, sweat forming in small beads along his hair line.‘I want to have my tongue inside you, taste your secret places.

Sherlock leans in closer, his voice more intimate.“I want my cock deep inside you.You on your back, or on your knees, or bent over a table.Or with you riding me.”John grows harder in his hand, leaking copiously.“God John, I want to fuck you.”He barely finishes speaking when John arches up, coming with stifled shout.Seeing this, feeling this, pushes Sherlock in to his own climax, John’s name on his lips.

For a long moment they remain curled together, Sherlock’s hand wrapped around John’s slowly softening penis, savouring the moment.Eventually, Sherlock reluctantly removes his hand, wiping it on the thigh of his jeans, as an afterthought he wipes John’s stomach clean with the edge of his shirt.He closes his eyes at the touch of John’s hand, his fingers slowly tracing the line of Sherlock’s cheekbone.

“I love you so much.”Before Sherlock can reply John gently pulls him down in to a kiss.Their lips open to each other, each sensation amplified, the dance of John’s tongue against his own makes Sherlock shiver before melting further into the kiss.It is as tender as the previous kisses were passionate, both men in no rush to end their embrace.


	18. Getting ready for Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s laughter accompanies Sherlock’s short, and somewhat ungainly, walk to the bathroom. Sherlock happily accepts John’s laughter, knowing he does make a rather ridiculous figure with his stiff, wide legged shuffle. He smiles to himself; a satisfied, ridiculous figure.

Their breathing evens out and they become aware of their awkward positioning on the bed, with a shared look and light laughter they both move until they are more comfortably situated. They lie with their heads on one pillow, their bodies still seeking the other out even though the urgency to be together has passed. The flush on their skin and stained and disarrayed clothes the only evidence of their earlier exertions.

“Oh god, that was good.” John chuckles, running a hand over his hot face, his hair a wild mess.

“Really?” Sherlock is genuinely shocked. “That barely counts as wanking you off.” He smiles broadly when John sucks in a surprised breath.

“Christ! The language on you. I think I've been a bad influence!” John is still smiling when he leans in for another lingering kiss. Sherlock thinks he could get used to the sensation of kissing a smiling John. “It was amazing.”

“You’ve received similar before. What made this particular experience so amazing?” Sherlock probes, not after false compliments but curious as to what made this so different for John.

“Because it was _you_ doing it.” John answers seriously. “The effect you have on me…..Your voice, your body, the way you look and move.” He sighs. “And your intelligence….Christ……You’re just so fucking beautiful and sexy.”

“Really?” For the second time in as many minutes Sherlock is shocked.

“Yes, really.” John reassures, smiling briefly before growing more serious, his words hesitant. “How was that for you? Did you enjoy it?”

“I think the ejaculate currently coating the inside of my underwear is testament to the fact that I found it all immensely pleasurable; and something I look forward to repeating in the future.” Sherlock tugs at the front of his jeans, nose wrinkling. “Preferably with less clothes.”

Sherlock soon joins in with John’s warm chuckling, the bed jiggling slightly with their laughter. Sherlock shifts again, his underwear now feeling almost unbearable against sensitive skin.

“I’m going to have to shower. Again.”

“Yeah. I’ll do the same once you’ve finished.” John scratches at his stomach, grimacing slightly. “This stuff gets itchy far too quickly.” He stretches, glancing at the wardrobe. “Might as well start getting ready for our night out.”

“You’re wearing your suit tonight.” Sherlock states, following John’s glance. His voice grows deeper, heat creeping into his words as he visualises what John might look like in his suit. “I look forward to it.”

“I hope I don't disappoint.” John murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. The kiss is long and lingering and holds the promise of more afternoons making love in the sunlight.

“Highly unlikely.” Sherlock eventually replies, nudging his nose against John’s.

Pressing a final kiss to John’s lips, Sherlock gets off the bed; it lacks some of his usual grace but, Sherlock thinks grimacing, that is perfectly understandable given the friction of sticky underwear on delicate skin and the pleasant ache of muscles used in a more athletic manner than his solo sexual adventures usually require. John’s laughter accompanies Sherlock’s short, and somewhat ungainly, walk to the bathroom. Sherlock happily accepts John’s laughter, knowing he does make a rather ridiculous figure with his stiff, wide legged shuffle. He smiles to himself; a _satisfied_ , ridiculous figure.

The face that looks back at him in the mirror is a very different one to that of yesterday. Superficially, he looks very much the same, albeit a tousled and flushed version; his dark hair in chaotic curls, some sticking damply to his forehead, some protruding at crazy angles from his head; his skin still damp and slightly shiny from his earlier endeavours. No, the difference in Sherlock’s reflection runs deeper than that; glimpses of it can be seen in his eyes and in his posture; his eyes are brighter, more carefree, his posture easy and strangely confident. And that, Sherlock thinks oddly surprised, sums up how he feels; in simplified terms. 

Turning the shower on, Sherlock waits for it to warm up, trailing long fingers over the faintest suggestion of stubble and decides to shave again. If the evening goes how he rather thinks it will - _hopes_ it will - then he wants to minimise the amount of discomfort any stubble may cause to sensitive skin. Sherlock takes his time shaving, checking the closeness regularly before finally deciding he is happy with the result.

Sherlock strips off his clothes quickly and efficiently until he reaches his underwear, which requires slightly more careful manoeuvring before he finally steps out of those too. Stepping under the shower, he tilts his head back, eyes closed as he lets the water wash away the fine patina of sweat from his skin. Deciding against washing his hair, knowing it would leave his hair unmanageable, Sherlock runs his fingers through it, carefully untangling any knots as he finds them before pushing it back off his forehead. Sherlock takes his time washing, carefully ensuring every possible part of him is clean and refreshed; he ignores the way his heart rate picks up at the thought of precisely why he wants that level of cleanliness.

Sherlock spends long minutes luxuriating in the feeling of warm water running down his body before finally turning the shower off and stepping out, his skin flushed pink. He wraps one of the hotel’s fluffy towels around his waist and reaches for his toothbrush, ignoring the way his hair drips rapidly cooling water on to his torso for now. Once again, Sherlock is fastidious in his preparations, following his careful brushing with flossing before inspecting his reflection in the mirror, leaning over the sink and running his tongue over his teeth. Using another towel Sherlock gently dries his hair, squeezing, not rubbing, knowing just how wayward his hair can get without proper care. He applies his product sparingly, distributing it with careful fingers, checking his reflection in the mirror once again, satisfied that it will dry in the desired style; something very similar to his usual look, but the curls a little less tamed, the style a little more carefree, more in keeping with how he is feeling. He washes his hands, still carefully eyeing his reflection, checking for any imperfections he can fix. Sherlock takes the same care and attention as he dries his body, ensuring everywhere is perfectly dry before applying his deodorant. He nods at his reflection before pulling on one of the hotel’s dressing gowns, slipping his cologne in his pocket, ready for application once he is dressed.

Sherlock leaves the bathroom, happy with his appearance and shares a brief kiss with John when he passes on the way to his own shower. He retrieves his suit from the wardrobe, hanging it on the open the door, frowning at the rumpled trousers before taking them off the hanger and putting them in the trouser press, hoping it doesn't make the fabric shiny. Returning to the wardrobe he selects two shirts, hanging them next to his suit jacket before turning his attention to the bed, intending to smooth over the no-doubt rumpled bed linen. He runs his fingers over the sheets, smiling, John has obviously had the same idea as the bed is now immaculately made with even the annoying decorative pillows back in place.

Sherlock retrieves his underwear and socks from the drawer, slipping them on and trying to ignore how he feels a bit ridiculous in his underwear, socks and plush dressing gown. Walking over to the kettle he checks the water level before switching it on, thinking that John will appreciate a cup of tea before they go out. Finally, he turns his attention back to the two shirts that hang on the wardrobe door; one a deep aubergine, the other a mid-blue. These are the shirts that have elicited the most positive reactions from John whenever he has worn them; reactions, that in hindsight, were rather telling of John’s attraction to him. Sherlock selects the aubergine, deciding it will best complement the steel blue of John’s suit. Sherlock removes the cologne from his pocket before taking off his dressing gown, folding it over the back of one of the chairs and then slips on his shirt. As ever, the fabric feels cool and luxurious against his skin, he returns the other shirt to the wardrobe before doing his buttons up and walking to the trouser press. He takes them out of the press and inspects them for damage or shine, satisfied, he pulls them on, checking the fit and fall of his clothing in the full length mirror, ensuring he looks his best. Deciding not to put his jacket on yet, Sherlock rests it over the back of a chair and returns the hanger to the wardrobe; he lingers for a moment, fingers twitching towards John’s clothing before resisting the temptation of inspecting them, knowing that he will see John in them soon enough. Sherlock closes the wardrobe, firmly but carefully, retrieving his cologne from where he had left it and applying it sparingly. Finally, he slips his shoes on and walks over to the window, staring out over the grounds as his mind returns to the events of the day.

Sherlock keeps his attention outside when he hears John leaving the bathroom, deciding to wait for the final reveal of John’s outfit, knowing that it will be worth the effort. He listens as John gets dressed, knowing precisely which item of clothing John is putting on from the sound alone, he is surprised when he realises that John’s suit must also have a waistcoat; for some reason this piece of unexpected information makes his heart rate accelerate. He can hear as John puts on his shoes, then his suit jacket; his outfit complete. 

Taking a steadying breath, Sherlock turns around, and is utterly unprepared for the vision before him.

“John……..”


	19. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is waiting for Sherlock to say more, arms held relaxed, palms facing Sherlock - openly inviting comment. He knows he looks good, exuding self confidence and sex appeal, his smile slightly crooked and more than slightly smug, his cheekbones clearly defined as he smirks.

Sherlock is left speechless, breathless, at the sight that greets him.John has always been a ruggedly handsome man; sometimes those good looks are boyish and easily overlooked, buried under jumpers or layered t-shirts and shirts.Sometimes his good looks are more striking, but this has less to do with his clothes and more to do with how he wants to be seen. 

Now.God now.Sherlock can barely think…. ridiculously all Sherlock can think is the term ‘film star good looks.’He has to shut his eyes, make himself take deep breaths, before opening them again to really observe John, his clothes, his posture and confidence.

John’s hair is longer on top now than it was when they first met, but short and neat around the back and sides.No nape curls to tempt Sherlock, just plenty of exposed soft skin begging to be explored.John’s hair is more silver than gold, the colour extremely flattering against John’s warm skin tone, but it is still thick and vital and, Sherlock now knows, as good to touch as it looks.John has obviously taken time shaving too, his jawline smooth and inviting, the slightest hint of a cleft chin to be seen. 

The steel-blue suit is exceptionally well made, narrow through the torso, emphasising John’s strong shoulders and flat stomach.The trousers are just as flattering, exaggerating the length of his legs whilst hinting at the well-shaped muscles hidden beneath the fabric.The waistcoat heightens John’s deceptive slimness whilst highlighting his strength.Sherlock makes a mental note to discover John’s tailor and send him a heartfelt thank you note; possibly whilst ordering a whole batch of new clothes for John.

John has teamed the suit with a light blue shirt, so pale it seems almost white; a deep plum tie, the colour very similar to Sherlock’s shirt, the tie is fastened in a neat half windsor and fixed with a silver tie pin.Sherlock realises with some shock that the colour of the tie is probably a deliberate choice; with John knowing that Sherlock would most likely bring his aubergine shirt for their time away and would choose that shirt, over any other, for a night out.

John is waiting for Sherlock to say more, arms held relaxed, palms facing Sherlock - openly inviting comment.He knows he looks good, exuding self confidence and sex appeal, his smile slightly crooked and more than slightly smug, his cheekbones clearly defined as he smirks.

Sherlock licks his lips, his eyes darting over John, capturing the image, knowing this is something he will never want to forget. 

“John..”Sherlock tries again to verbalise how he is feeling.“You look… handsome doesn't even come near to describing it.”Sherlock moves closer to John, lightly running his fingers over the lapel of John’s suit jacket, the feel of it beneath his fingertips is….. “Exquisite, John.You look absolutely exquisite.”

“Thank you.”John still looks slightly smug even as he blushes at the unexpected compliment.He knows he looks good but is astounded at the effect it seems to be having on Sherlock.“As do you.”

“I hardly feel I match up.”Sherlock answers, his fingers tracing over the buttons of John’s waistcoat.

“You _always_ look stunning, Sherlock.Always.”John’s words are heartfelt and rewarded with a kiss.It is a simple touch of lips, chaste but lingering with the promise of more.

Sherlock hesitates before realising he doesn’t have to hold back anymore. “I love you, John.”

“I love you too.”John responds, smiling softly.“Are you almost ready? There should be a car waiting for us.”

Sherlock slips on his jacket and reaches for John’s hand, deciding not to wear his Belstaff tonight.He spends their time in the lift admiring John’s reflection in the mirrored walls; everything from the way that his shoes shine to the way that his hair is perfectly styled.John stands at ease, his hand still held in Sherlock’s, as confident and comfortable in his suit as he is in his jeans and jumper.It is this confidence, as much as his attire, that draws admiring glances from the people that they see.

John stops briefly to speak to the concierge, collecting a simple white envelope, before they walk outside to meet their waiting car. 

“Doctor Watson?”The driver asks as they approach.

“Yes, that’s me.You know where you’re taking us?”John queries.

“Yes sir, to ..”John hushes him quickly before handing the envelope over.To his credit, the man only looks confused for a moment before looking inside the envelope.Sherlock gets a quick glimpse of something that looks like tickets before the envelope is once again closed and returned to John.“Yes sir.”The driver says again.“I know where to go.”

“Excellent.”John opens the door for Sherlock, letting him slide in before joining him in the back seat and pulling the door closed behind them. 

“You’re trying to be very secretive, John.”Sherlock says, linking their hands back together.He is finding the feel of John rather addictive and the easiest way to get his ‘fix’ is by holding John’s hand.

“As I said this morning, I just want to surprise you, or at least try and surprise you.”John smiles ruefully.“Go on then, tell me what you’ve deduced so far.”

“I know we are going to Brighton, it’s the closest large urban area to us; the tickets in the envelope would indicate an event of some sort, again pointing to a large town or city, in this case, Brighton.”Sherlock studies John but his face is guileless, open.“I know it’s not for a meal because of your insistence that I ate well at lunch; it’s very unlikely to be a sporting event given our attire and my general disinterest.So, that leaves the theatre or some sort of musical entertainment.Unlikely to be a ‘pop’ concert, again our attire is wrong and despite liking most music you know that I would not enjoy being in that sort of setting.”Sherlock looks at their linked hands, admiring the differences in size and skin tones, before looking back up at John.“So, either theatre or classical music.”

“I really do love it when you do that.” John answers, noncommittally.“Sometimes you’re a rightdick about it, but I still love it.” 

“You are a very strange man, John Watson.” 

“I am _your_ very strange man, Sherlock Holmes.”John quips, his eyes sparkling.

“That was awful, John!How on earth you used to get all those girlfriends with lines like that, I will never know!”Sherlock teases, rolling his eyes, enjoying their light banter.

“That would have been my raw sexual magnetism.”John chuckles.

“Now that, I can easily believe.”Sherlock agrees, surprising John with his answer, watching the way the colour lightly flushes his cheeks.

The rest of the journey is spent in comfortable quiet, John’s thigh pressed against Sherlock’s, sending little jolts of sensation through him with each bump and wobble of the unpredictable road surface.

The car finally pulls up in front of an impressive building and Sherlock immediately recognises the building style as being almost identical to that of the Royal Pavilion.A single domed roof rises high above the elaborate pinnacles of the front of the building, giving a clue to its name.

“The Brighton Dome?Definitely something theatrical or classical then; that’s if we are in the Concert Hall?”Sherlock queries as he steps gracefully from the car. 

“We will be.Not bad for an old stable.”John jests, guiding Sherlock to join the short line outside the main building.“Can’t believe the Prince Regent decided he wanted a domed building for his horses!Very pampered creatures I bet.”

“For a very pampered prince, by all accounts.There are tunnels leading from the Royal Pavilion directly to here, the rumour at the time suggested it was so the Prince Regent could meet with his mistress in secret.”

“It’s beautiful; the building.”John clarifies.“Reminds me of some of the buildings in India.”John muses as they slowly make their way forward in the queue.

“Indo-Saracenic.At least the outside is, the inside of the Concert Hall has been redesigned extensively over the years.Having been everything from stables, to ice rink, to hospital before finally being used as a performance space.The current style is Art Deco and has been renovated to have an excellent acoustic system.A performance of any kind here is sure to be magnificent.”

“This venue and this performance are a huge part of why I chose Brighton and this weekend for our time away.I thought it would be something that you’d really enjoy.”John gestures to an A frame poster next to the main door advertising that night’s performance.

“The London Philharmonic Orchestra.Tchaikovsky and Brahms.Ray Chen.”Sherlock reads, his eyes widening with each highlight he reads out.“Oh John, you really do love me.”His words are said only half in jest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been lucky enough to go to the Brighton Dome so please excuse me if I got anything wrong, I did research it quite thoroughly and applied it to my existing knowledge of Brighton.


	20. If Music Be The Food Of Love ....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minutes pass before John can pull his attention away from Chen to look at Sherlock, curious to see how he is reacting. If John thought that watching Chen play was captivating, it is nothing compared to watching Sherlock experience it. Each soaring note makes Sherlock’s eyes flutter shut before he forces them open again, each crescendo makes his breath catch, his full lips parting. John loses himself both in the beauty of the music and of Sherlock, knowing this moment, this image, will be indelibly imprinted on him forever.

“I decided against booking online, I called instead.The booking office assured me these are excellent seats, they said something about great positioning for the acoustics and sightline.”John explains as they settle themselves into their seats, the plush velvet unexpectedly comfortable and supportive.

“They should be excellent judging by the shape of the auditorium and the position of the stage; these seats really are amongst the best in the house.”Sherlock assures John almost absent-mindedly.Unusually, Sherlock doesn’t know where to look first; whether to study the beautiful Art Deco decoration, or to try and deduce the other patrons as they stream in, or to admire the handsome man sitting next to him.For a moment, Sherlock allows himself to look at John - his easy posture in his seat and his open smiles for those sitting near him - before dragging his eyes away to study the Concert Hall, secure in the knowledge that he can intimately examine John later.

“Do you know anything about what’s being played tonight?I admit I looked snippets up on YouTube so that I could have some level of familiarity with it but I’m not sure I saw the best performances.”John queries, leaning in close, catching a hint of Sherlock’s cologne.

“A little.”Sherlock nods.“The first piece is by Tchaikovsky; it comes from the third act of the opera, Eugene Onegin.It is actually called Polonaise, which is essentially a Polish dance; it shows that all men surrender to love’s power or, at least, is supposed to.At the end of the opera the title character, Onegin, realises after years away that he loves Tatyana.Tatyana, in the meantime, has married another man.Onegin admits his love, she admits hers, but there’s no happy ending for them, she stays faithful to her husband, rejecting Onegin.”

“Some of that sounds awfully familiar.”John’s easy smile fades a little.

“Yes, but we have a happy ending.”Sherlock answers, before rolling his eyes at the tweeness of the sentiment. 

The audience grows quiet as the members of the London Philharmonic Orchestra enter, the sound of shuffling and the occasional cough somehow adding to the feeling of anticipation.The lights dim, leaving only the stage illuminated as the musicians give their instruments one final tune before falling silent themselves.A stage door opens and a lone man enters, John realises that this must be the conductor, Christoph Eschenbach, making his way to the podium.He acknowledges the orchestra before turning to face the audience, giving a bow to applause then turning to face the orchestra once more, his arms raised in preparation. 

John had expected a somewhat mournful piece, given what Sherlock had told him about the ultimate outcome for Eugene Onegin, but the music that springs forth is both regal and joyful, immediately lifting John’s spirits and capturing his attention.John realises that he can pick up simple repetitive tunes within the main composition and he eagerly listens for them to reappear.Glancing across at Sherlock, John is unsurprised to find him listening with his eyes closed, his fingers dancing along just above his lap.The music ends much too soon for John’s liking and he resolves to download some of the night’s music, knowing that Sherlock will be able to recommend particularly good versions for him.The audience claps whilst the orchestra and conductor arrange their sheet music for the next part of the evening’s entertainment. 

Once more the stage door opens, this time Sherlock clutches at John’s arm before rising eagerly to his feet, applauding loudly along with many other members of the audience.Ray Chen, a world-renowned violinist that John has often observed Sherlock praising and the whole reason for this night out, and for this weekend, in particular, being chosen.If Sherlock were to have a celebrity crush then it would be on Ray Chen; charismatic, good looking and supremely talented, John acknowledges admiring the open smile, there are far worse choices. 

Slowly, the applause comes to an end and Chen takes his position, quickly checking the tuning of his violin, confirming the note with the first violinist, before giving the conductor a brief nod.The music begins and John is struck by the beauty of it, almost immediately there are soaring notes and a beautiful blending of instruments.He remembers very little from his childhood clarinet lessons, forgetting the sounds of the individual instruments, but he finds this does nothing to impact his enjoyment of the music.John knows this is Brahms’ Violin Concerto but only because he has the programme and for a moment he loses himself in the sound, letting the music surround him.The sound of a lone violin soars out and he knows that this is Chen, even John can recognise brilliance when he hears it.He opens his eyes and his focus is completely captured, Chen doesn't just _play_ the music, he _lives_ it. 

Minutes pass before John can pull his attention away from Chen to look at Sherlock, curious to see how he is reacting.If John thought that watching Chen play was captivating, it is nothing compared to watching Sherlock experience it.Each soaring note makes Sherlock’s eyes flutter shut before he forces them open again, each crescendo makes his breath catch, his full lips parting.John loses himself both in the beauty of the music and of Sherlock, knowing this moment, this image, will be indelibly imprinted on him forever. 

The music is both powerful and beautiful and John is unsurprised to see the goosebumps rising on Sherlock’s exposed forearms, or to see the way Sherlock holds his breath during particularly poignant moments before letting it out again in a silent sigh.John loses track of time, only aware of the music and the beautiful man sat beside him.He is utterly mesmerised, Sherlock is holding nothing back, responding to the music with his whole being, the notes being played directly on to his soul. 

The last notes of the final movement ring out bright and true and Sherlock springs to his feet, applauding loudly, only pausing for a moment to wipe away the tears that have come to his eyes.John is on his feet too, hands stinging with the enthusiasm with which he claps.Ray Chen takes bow after bow, his face alight, before finally leaving the stage accompanied by rapturous applause. 

Sherlock turns to face John, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed.“Oh my god, John.”

“Enjoyed that did you?”John teases, still clapping.

“He was wonderful.The whole performance was utterly breathtaking.”Sherlock sounds almost breathless in his awe and admiration, lending veracity to his words.

“I thought so too.”John agrees, resting his hand lightly on the small of Sherlock’s back as they make their way out to the foyer, weaving their way through the crowd until finally finding a gap at the bar.

“Champagne?”John queries, gesturing to the barman.

“Please.”Sherlock answers, leaning down slightly to be heard above the general chatter.

John orders them both a glass of champagne, passing Sherlock his before guiding them into a relatively open space.“Enjoying yourself?” 

“Immensely.” 

They spend the rest of the interval discussing the concert so far; or rather, Sherlock does and John listens, loving Sherlock’s enthusiasm.

The bell rings to signal the end of intermission and they make their way back in to the Concert Hall, John’s hand once more resting low on Sherlock’s back.They settle back in their seats and Sherlock tells him a little about what to expect from the upcoming Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 4.The orchestra and conductor enter to applause and once the audience settle they begin to play. 

This piece of music makes very little impression on John, he can recognise the skill of the composition and of the performers but he feels that it lacks a certain something.He looks at Sherlock, happy to see that he is absorbed in the music, although perhaps not quite so ‘lost’ to it as he was before.John is only peripherally aware of the performance, instead far more conscious of Sherlock and his reactions. 

The rest of the evening passes swiftly, each man taking pleasure in the event, even John’s attention is pulled back to the stage for the beautiful finale.He joins Sherlock, and the majority of the audience, in giving a standing ovation.He makes a mental note to check out future performances of the London Philharmonic Orchestra when they return home, wondering if there might be something he could take Rosie to.She adores it when Sherlock plays for her and John thinks she would love putting on a pretty outfit and going to a performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent many happy hours researching a possible programme for the night, settling on this particular one after stumbling across it on The London Philharmonic Orchestra. The wonderful Chemical_Defect then sent me loads of wonderful YouTube videos of Ray Chen (so gooooood!) and then of fantastic performances of the mentioned pieces, Chemical_Defect then gave this chapter a quick read through to make sure there weren't any glaring music related errors. I'm hugely thankful for their support!  
> I'm a bit of a John, I love listening to classical music but I don't really have the skills to explain the intricacies, only my reactions.


	21. A Lover's Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No. Let me.” Sherlock interrupts, moving deftly into John’s personal space, trailing his hand over John’s shoulder as he steps behind him. With great care, Sherlock slides John’s jacket off his shoulders, guiding it slowly down his arms. John’s breath hitches at Sherlock’s touch, the intimacy of the moment stealing his words away.

The journey back to the hotel is full of joyful chatter about the performance, Sherlock talks about the finer nuances of the performance, encouraging John to talk about what he enjoyed too.John feels he is rather lacking in the technical language to contribute in this area but Sherlock seems perfectly happy with his attempt, so he tries his best to do the performance justice.When John mentions his idea of taking Rosie to a performance, Sherlock readily agrees, believing that she will love it, promising to find out if there is something suitable they can all attend together.

The discussion continues from the taxi right to their room door, John briefly pauses their discussion to unlock the door, before following Sherlock inside, flicking the lights on low.He is still talking about what Rosie might like to see as he starts to slip his jacket off.

“No.Let me.”Sherlock interrupts, moving deftly into John’s personal space, trailing his hand over John’s shoulder as he steps behind him.With great care, Sherlock slides John’s jacket off his shoulders, guiding it slowly down his arms.John’s breath hitches at Sherlock’s touch, the intimacy of the moment stealing his words away.

John watches as Sherlock walks to the wardrobe and removes a hanger, before hanging his jacket on it with great care and placing it inside; John licks his lips as Sherlock makes his way back to him.John willingly lets Sherlock take his hands, following without question as Sherlock guides them closer to the bed.John’s eyes flutter shut when Sherlock leans slowly in and runs his nose lightly over John’s, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. As the kiss breaks, John takes a deep breath and allows the scent of Sherlock to flood his senses.

“Christ, you smell delicious.”John’s mouth floods with saliva at the thought of how Sherlock might taste.

Sherlock steps back slightly, his cheeks already flushed, pupils beginning to dilate; leaving John missing his scent.Sherlock trails his long fingers over John’s tie, then over the buttons of his waistcoat, before slowly flicking each one open, his eyes never leaving John’s face.Sherlock removes John’s silver tie pin, placing it on the bedside table before undoing John’s tie, slowly sliding it out from under his collar, letting it fall to the floor.John closes his eyes at the sensation, breathing deep, this careful undressing feels incredibly erotic and already his body is becoming aroused in response to Sherlock’s touch and proximity.John’s lips part as his eyes flutter open, he licks his lips, drawing Sherlock’s attention to them.Once more, Sherlock leans in for an almost chaste kiss, he pulls back slightly, gaze focused on John’s parted lips before returning for a more lingering kiss, pulling away when John tries to deepen the kiss.

John leans forward, chasing the kiss, but is halted in his movements when Sherlock places his palm against his chest.Sherlock slides his hand over John’s chest, pausing briefly over his heart and John knows he can feel how fast his heart is beating.Using both hands Sherlock slowlypushes John’s waistcoat off his shoulders, controlling its fall from his arms, the sensation raises goosebumps over John’s skin.Sherlock’s eyes never leave John’s face as he carefully folds the waistcoat and places it over the back of a nearby chair, John watches Sherlock’s hands, admiring their natural grace.It is through this admiration that John notices a slight tremor when Sherlock reaches for him again: this tremor teamed with the light flush on his cheeks and the way the tip of his tongue dampens his lips makes John realise just how aroused Sherlock is with what is happening between them. 

John briefly covers Sherlock’s hand with his own, a silent reassurance, before letting him take things at his own pace, loving this slow, intimate undressing.He takes a steadying breath as Sherlock begins to unbutton his shirt, each brief touch leaving John’s skin tingling.Sherlock leaves the shirt hanging open, John’s bare skin on display; John expects Sherlock to move on to undoing his cuffs and is pleasantly surprised when Sherlock slips his hands under the open edges, his large hands warm and comforting.

“I will never understand why you insist on hiding this beautiful body under so many layers.”Sherlock utters, his words whispered, hands gliding over John’s skin, leaving another wave of goosebumps in their wake.Sherlock watches the path his hands take, apparently enthralled at what he can see.

“I thought you liked the suit.”John manages, ending on a gasp when Sherlock trails his lips over his neck, fingers playing with his nipples.

“Oh I do John.Very much.”He nips lightly at tender skin, eliciting a sharply indrawn breath.“Very much indeed.”Sherlock dips down, pressing kisses to the exposed skin of John’s chest. “Although I am very much looking forward to seeing you minus all those layers, even those of that rather exceptional suit.”

John closes his eyes as Sherlock gently sucks at a nipple, biting his lip at the sensation.His chest has never been a particularly sensitive part of him, trust Sherlock to cause his body to react in new and wonderful ways.Sherlock explores John’s torso with lips and tongue, making muscles twitch in response and John bites his lip, holding back moans.When Sherlock licks at the skin just above the waistband of his trousers John loses his silent battle and the moan slips free.Sherlock responds by nuzzling in, his hands coming up to wrap around the back of John’s thighs, as he nips lightly along the trouser line; he presses his face, far too briefly for John’s liking, to the front of John’s trousers, taking a deep breath, before rising gracefully to his feet.John’s hands twitch with the urge to push Sherlock back down on his knees, he ignores that particular desire - this time.

With shaking hands Sherlock reaches for John’s cuffs, releasing the cufflinks, turning briefly to put them safely on the bedside table.Turning back, he pushes John’s shirt off his shoulders, allowing the clothing to fall unheeded to the floor.John tilts his head up just as Sherlock leans down, the need to kiss obvious; this time the kiss deepens immediately, both man eager for the taste of the other.John can stand pliant no longer, finally wrapping his arms around Sherlock, one hand in the middle of his back, the other at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, pulling him in to the embrace.John wants to strip Sherlock, have him naked and trembling, but he knows that Sherlock needs to take their first forays into a physical relationship at his own pace.John easily admits that he is more than happy with Sherlock’s progress so far.

“Do you really want to do all those things you said to me?”John asks, suddenly needing to know the answer, his voice gravelly with arousal.Sherlock makes an interrogative sound as he nuzzles into John’s neck, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin there, making John shiver at the sensation.“What you said this afternoon, when you had your hand wrapped around my cock.”

Sherlock sucks in a gasp at John’s words, his breath then escaping in a long huff against John’s skin.“Oh yes.”He lets his hand drop to the fastenings of John’s trousers, long fingers briefly dipping just under the waistband whilst still smearing kisses along John’s jawline.“Why would I say them, if I didn't mean them?”

John licks his lips, hips twitching slightly as Sherlock flicks open the button.“Dunno.”John manages, breathless.“Lost in the moment?”

“I was very aware of everything I said, John.”His fingers dip once more under John’s waistband, deftly undoing the hidden clasp.“I said nothing that I hadn’t already thought, already wished for, a thousand times before.”He slides the zip open, letting the trousers drop to the floor.

“Fuck.”John is unsure whether he is reacting to Sherlock’s words or his actions, deciding that either way the sentiment still stands.

“Yes.That was on there.”Sherlock kneels down, sliding John’s shoes and socks off, pushing them to the side, then removing John’s trousers from where they gather at his ankles.He stands, carefully draping them over the back of the same chair as the waistcoat.

“Dick.”John responds, admiring the graceful way Sherlock moves, even when doing something as mundane as folding clothes.

“And that was mentioned quite a few times; both yours and mine.”Sherlock grins, crowding back in to John’s space, hands smoothing over John’s hips, before plucking at the waistband of his boxers.

“And John.” He lowers John’s boxers, dropping to his knees once more to guide the material all the way down John’s legs, before removing them totally.“I would very much like for you to do those things to me, too.”He smiles up at John, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, taking John’s breath away.


	22. A night for lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s hands drop to his trouser fastenings and he hesitates briefly before stepping back over to the side of the bed, reaching out for John. Confused, John lets Sherlock take his hand, breath hitching when Sherlock presses John’s palm against the front of his trousers. A sound escapes John at the first feel of Sherlock in his hand, he doesn’t know if it’s a whine or a moan, only that it is a sound of distinct approval.

“Jesus, Sherlock.” 

John gasps at the sensation of Sherlock’s warm breath gusting over the sensitive skin of his cock, which twitches slightly, almost like it is reaching out for Sherlock’s lips of its own accord.With a hand trembling with arousal John reaches out, encountering soft hair that he instinctively weaves his fingers through, joyfully mussing the carefully styled curls.John’s head falls forward and his hand falls lax at the first touch of Sherlock’s tongue; the touch is tentative, a barely there sensation against his shaft, but the action is no less arousing for it. 

John struggles to keep his eyes open, so that he can see, as well as feel, what is happening but his eyes keep falling shut and in the end he lets them, very much hoping he will get to see Sherlock in a similar position in the near future.Sherlock experiments, at first using small, quick swipes of his tongue along the shaft before using his hand to steady John’s cock, his grip confident.The tentative licks become more sure, long, lingering strokes going from where Sherlock holds him, along his shaft, almost to the tip, causing John to reach out with his free hand for Sherlock’s shoulder for support, his knees already threatening to give. Sherlock groans, his lips moving slightly where they rest on John’s cock, vibrations race along John’s skin and he echoes Sherlock as his hips rock forward.

Sherlock turns his head slightly, peppering kisses over John’s thigh, his hand moving along John’s shaft as he licks along the crease between hip and thigh before nuzzling into the hair surrounding the base of John’s cock, inhaling deeply.John flushes, this is far from his first blow job but it is the first time that he feels so treasured, so loved, rather than just wanted for his cock and the pleasure his body might give.Sherlock returns his attention to John’s penis, small licks, sucking kisses and long, lingering licks are lavished upon him; just when John thinks he has worked out some sort of pattern to Sherlock’s administrations they alter again.His hand tightens briefly in Sherlock’s hair when Sherlock takes him in to his mouth, firm lips wrapped around his shaft, talented tongue dancing around the head of his cock, tasting him as he leaks pre-ejaculate.Just the thought heightens John’s arousal further; from the sounds Sherlock is making it is not only John who is very much enjoying this experience.

“Sh…”John breaks off at a particularly well applied sucking kiss to his shaft, licking his lips, before trying again, his voice uneven.“Sherlock,I really think we should continue this on a bed.I don’t think my legs are going to hold out much longer.” 

John takes his hand from Sherlock’s hair as he rises to his feet, instantly missing the silky feel of it against his skin.His other hand trails from Sherlock’s shoulder, over his heaving chest, before travelling along his arm to hold Sherlock’s proffered hand.John can feel the slightest of tremors in Sherlock’s grip and he is momentarily worried that Sherlock is pushing himself beyond his comfort zone.He observes Sherlock as he guided over to the bed, watching him closely as Sherlock positions him to his own design; John observes everything from the way he moves to the flush on his high cheekbones before arriving at the conclusion that Sherlock is far from being overwhelmed or out of his comfort zone.He is a man in control of his body and his mind, the tiny tremors John can see are for the same reason he reacts to Sherlock’s touch; a flooding of love and arousal given physical form.

Sherlock takes time to position John, not, John notes, so that he is lying flat on the bed but rather so that he is lower on the bed, his body turned to where Sherlock still stands, studying John’s final placement.Seemingly happy with the result, Sherlock moves from his crouch at John’s side and takes a few steps away from the edge of the bed.This movement initially confuses John until he realises that Sherlock has situated himself perfectly so that all of him can be seen with no effort required on John’s part.John watches, lips parted, as Sherlock removes his shoes and socks, even this chaste unrobing has a grace to it that has John enthralled.Sherlock slips off his jacket, throwing it, without looking, to land perfectly on the chair.John licks his lips as Sherlock’s nimble fingers drift to his shirt buttons, flicking each one open with ease, revealing pale skin and a fine dusting of chest hair as more buttons come undone.Sherlock pulls his shirt tails from his trousers, the movement fluid, before slipping the shirt off, allowing it to fall to the floor.John really doesn’t know where to look first; the pale, lightly freckled skin, the unexpected strength of Sherlock’s biceps or the flat stomach and hint of hip bone exposed above the waistline of Sherlock’s trousers.

Sherlock’s hands drop to his trouser fastenings and he hesitates briefly before stepping back over to the side of the bed, reaching out for John.Confused, John lets Sherlock take his hand, breath hitching when Sherlock presses John’s palm against the front of his trousers.A sound escapes John at the first feel of Sherlock in his hand, he doesn’t know if it’s a whine or a moan, only that it is a sound of distinct approval.He can feel the heat of Sherlock’s cock through the fine wool of his trousers, the shape and size of him barely impeded by the fabric.John moves his hand, eager to explore, dipping between Sherlock’s slightly parted legs, cupping his testicles before sliding his hand back up Sherlock’s length.John fidgets slightly, adjusting his grip so that he can feel Sherlock better; sliding his fingers along the hidden zip, pausing at the button, his intent clear but looking to Sherlock for permission.Sherlock nods, teeth nipping briefly at his full lower lip, his hands hovering over John’s wrists, clearly unsure where to place them as John flicks open the button, moving swiftly to the hidden clasp.Anticipation makes John’s movements clumsy and he forces himself to take a few calming breaths before attempting the clasp again, this time successfully.Gaze flicking between Sherlock’s face and his own hands, John slowly opens the zip, biting his lip as the sides part and the trousers slip over slim hips revealing snugly fitting boxers that leave no doubt as to the level of Sherlock’s arousal.

John watches eagerly as Sherlock steps out of his trousers, all long legged grace, leaving them on the floor to climb on to the bed next to John.For a moment, Sherlock leans over John, his breath sweet against John’s skin, before he leans in and kisses him.The tenderness of the kiss takes John’s breath away, in many ways it is more revealing than their nakedness; John has been naked with others, but he has never felt this seen, felt this known.The kiss deepens and John’s hand is once again guided back to caress Sherlock’s penis, the thin fabric of his boxers barely a barrier at all.A barrier that Sherlock has obviously had enough of as he guides John’s hand under the fabric; the kiss of bare skin against bare skin leaves John sighing out in pleasure against Sherlock’s lips, amazed anew at how the feel of Sherlock eclipses even the memory of how others felt.The groan that Sherlock makes at the first touch of John’s hand rumbles through Sherlock and in to John, and is answered in kind;John alters his grip slightly, needing to feel as much of Sherlock as possible.He strokes up and down Sherlock’s length, trying to find an easy angle on his wrist whilst allowing for the restriction caused by Sherlock’s underwear.Despite loving the feel of Sherlock in his hand,John grows increasingly more frustrated with the awkward angle, finally letting go of him; an action that receives a definite whine of complaint.

“May I?”John asks, pushing both hands under the waist of Sherlock’s boxers, his intention clear.

“God, please.”Sherlock helps John remove the offending item, what the action lacks in grace, it makes up for in speed.

It suddenly hits John that he has a very naked Sherlock in his arms and for a moment he just holds Sherlock tightly against him; their limbs entwined, genitals nestled together.Their height difference means that John’s face is nuzzled against Sherlock’s shoulder and he uses this positioning as an opportunity to press open-mouthed kisses over one freckled shoulder before moving to suck lightly on the skin over a long admired clavicle.His hands trace down over Sherlock’s back, his fingers and palms drifting over smooth skin and scars alike, lithe muscles flex under his touch, driving his exploration on; his hands finally coming to rest on perfectly toned buttocks and John takes his time squeezing and massaging this beautifully proportioned flesh.His actions encourage Sherlock to thrust against him, the feeling of their cocks moving together is exquisite and for a long moment John loses himself in the sensation; the slide of sensitive skin against sensitive skin intoxicating. 

Just as the friction feels like it is becoming too much Sherlock rolls off him, leaving John feeling momentarily bereft at the loss before realising, and very much appreciating, the view before him.The low light of the room adds warm tones to the pale skin that stretches over well-proportioned, lithely toned musculature;John watches in open admiration as Sherlock walks, unselfconsciously, to their bathroom, settling himself more comfortably on their bed to await Sherlock.The view of Sherlock’s returning is almost even more delicious and John can’t resist giving himself a quick stroke, noticing Sherlock’s eyes widen in appreciation of his actions.John’s eyes flit over Sherlock’s form, taking in long elegant limbs and lightly freckled skin, but his gaze is drawn to the dark trail of hair leading down from Sherlock's navel to where it thickens and darkens as it surrounds the base of Sherlock’s erect penis.A penis, John can’t help but notice, that is perfectly in keeping with the rest of Sherlock’s physique; long and slim, strangely elegant and proud, and mouthwateringly tempting.John swallows the rush of saliva that fills his mouth and waits, semi-patiently, for Sherlock to come within reach.

As soon as he is, John stretches out, one hand wrapping around the back of a strong thigh, the other grabbing a handful of delectable backside and pulls him closer.Sherlock allows himself to beguided forward, a smile playing over his full lips, well aware of John’s intentions as he halts at the side of the bed.John licks his lips, suddenly aware of how often he does this in Sherlock’s presence, before wrapping his left hand around Sherlock’s cock whilst pulling Sherlock even closer with the right hand that still rests on Sherlock’s backside.Warm moisture touches his lips and once more John licks them, Sherlock’s taste bursting over his tastebuds even as he seeks out more.He licks at the head of Sherlock’s cock and the flavour bursts afresh over his tongue;John closes his eyes at the taste, licking again before taking the very tip of Sherlock’s cock in to his mouth.As his lips stretch further over Sherlock, John groans, surprised at how arousing he is finding Sherlock’s taste and feel.Sherlock emits a high pitched whine and something cold thumps against John’s back, he barely registers it as the lube from his toiletries bag before he continues his administrations.John uses his grip on Sherlock’s arse to encourage him to slide further into his mouth; he sucks lightly and moves his tongue, trying to duplicate things he has enjoyed experiencing whilst also reacting to Sherlock’s sounds and movements.John believes he must have done something right when Sherlock groans, the sound deep and heartfelt as his hips kick forward.John alters his position so that he can take Sherlock further in, both hands now firmly on Sherlock’s backside, encouraging the light thrusts, groaning and salivating as Sherlock’s fingers scrabble against his back and through his hair.

“J…J..John..” Sherlock stutters out, breathless. “You need to stop, I’m not going to last much longer.”

John sucks and teases a moment longer before sliding off, his hands still firmly on Sherlock’s arse.“Good.That’s kind of the point.”He licks at Sherlock’s tip, savouring the taste and texture.“I want you to come in my mouth.”

“But, I had plans.”Sherlock manages as John licks along his length; tapping the lube bottle against John’s back.

“Mmm, oh good.So do I.”John laughs.“Now, get on this bed so I can ravish you properly.”He finally relinquishes his hold on Sherlock and shuffles back on the bed, watching eagerly as Sherlock joins him, lying on his back and observing John with eager eyes.

John leans over Sherlock and captures his mouth in a kiss, one hand cupping Sherlock’s neck and drawing him in deeper.For a while, they lose themselves in the kiss, Sherlock pulling John on top of him, his legs parting to allow John between them.The kiss ends naturally and John moves to trace kisses over the long white neck that has always fascinated him, sucking lightly over each freckle and mole as he encounters them.Sherlock stretches up, elongating the tempting column and presenting his collar bones for John’s approval.John trails his lips along the offered skin, humming as Sherlock sighs and moans at his touch.His journey downwards take him first to one nipple, then the other, treating them each with nipping caresses and open mouthed kisses whilst his hands stroke over Sherlock’s sides, from underarm to hip and back again, before starting their journey again.

John kisses lower, his lips brushing over Sherlock’s stomach, the muscles of which clench and release at his touch, his kisses take John to Sherlock’s hip before he moves back to kiss along the dark trail of hair that leads to the base of Sherlock’s cock.Sherlock’s long fingers sweep through John’s hair, mussing his fringe so that it falls softly over Sherlock’s skin, the silver shining bright against dark pubic hair.Sherlock’s cock nudges against John’s cheek and he ignores it, for now, continuing to press kisses to the delicate skin of Sherlock’s inner thigh before laving broad stripes over Sherlock’s testicles, loving the way the skin moves beneath his tongue.

Sherlock tugs lightly on John’s hair, his hint none too subtle, and John smiles in delight before licking his way up Sherlock’s penis and taking him back in to his mouth.They both moan at the sensation, Sherlock’s fingers have gone back to distractedly playing with John’s hair, the action erratic but gentle.It doesn’t take long for John’s administrations to bring Sherlock back to the brink of climax;Sherlock arches his back, his breath coming out in gasps as his cock grows harder in John’s mouth, he clutches as John’s shoulder before finally spilling in to John’s eager mouth.John swallows before letting Sherlock carefully slide out of his mouth, he takes his time licking and nuzzling Sherlock’s slowly softening penis, only desisting when Sherlock twitches away, obviously becoming over sensitive. 

John happily takes the hint and crawls back up over Sherlock’s body until they are once more mouth to mouth.The kiss starts off sloppy but soon grows more passionate when John rocks against him, his erection sliding over Sherlock’s flat stomach.John tries not to rub against Sherlock’s over stimulated cock, his thighs beginning to ache at the awkward angle, and yet it’s still the best experience he can recall having.Sherlock fidgets beneath him, his arm flailing out and John is just about to complain when Sherlock wriggles a hand between them, closing his fist over John’s cock.John’s hips kick forward at the sensation, Sherlock’s fist is slick with lubricant and the grip is beyond perfect;John grunts and the pace of his thrusting increases, their kisses growing more desperate.It feels like all too soon, and conversely, not soon enough, when Sherlock alters his grip and John comes; his hips continue to thrust, almost of their own volition, slowing as their kiss gentles.When Sherlock finally lets go of John he moves his hand to rest, wetly, on John’s back; they adjust their positions so that John rests with his head on Sherlock’s chest, listening to the sound of Sherlock’s heartbeat as it gradually evens out.John moves his hand slowly up from where it has been resting on Sherlock’s hip to rest over the small scar on Sherlock’s chest, the gesture both loving and protective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you in the lurch last week, hope the double length (almost triple length!) chapter makes up for it!  
> That was my last fully written chapter (the delay was my editing it, I do tend to obsessively edit!) so I apologise if the remaining chapters are a bit slower in appearing!


	23. Quiet Intimacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John halts any further words by thoroughly kissing Sherlock. Part of John wishes this was a technique he could use to effectively silence Sherlock when he is being the obnoxious twat that he can so often be, but acknowledges that kissing someone until they submit is not a mature, or healthy, coping mechanism. Instead, John enjoys the feel of a very naked Sherlock beneath him and deepens the kiss further; it is just edging towards something more when there is a knock at their room door. John breaks their kiss with a groan and a muttered ‘timing’, rolling off Sherlock and taking a few deep breaths.

John wakes slowly from a light doze an hour or so later to the sensation of his stomach rumbling.Sherlock laughs, low and light, jiggling John’s head where it still rests on his chest, his fingers trailing distractedly through John’s hair.The sensation is almost enough to lull John back to sleep but his stomach makes itself known rather loudly once more and he admits to himself that sleep is probably a lost cause.

“Always thinking with your stomach, John.”Sherlock teases affectionately, pressing a kiss to the top of John’s head, his fingers now gently stroking over the nape of John’s neck.

“Side effect of not having eaten since lunch and then exerting myself.” John responds mildly, he thinks about moving, even going so far as to move his leg, before deciding he is far too comfortable to move any further.“Fancy some food from Room Service?”

“Yes please.Something light.”Sherlock wriggles out from beneath John, ignoring John’s protests, wrinkling his nose at the dried mess on his stomach and hand.“I’ll clean myself up a little whilst you call them.”

John stretches, scratching his tummy with one hand, before reaching for the Room Service menu that is on their bedside table; his attention half on the menu, half on a naked Sherlock.

Sherlock returns from the bathroom a few minutes later, a wet flannel in one hand, a towel in the other; he gestures for John to turn on to his back, surprising him by carefully wiping him clean whilst John waits for Room Service to answer their phone.John giggles when Sherlock finds a particularly ticklish spot which, of course, is exactly when the telephone call gets answered.

“Sorry, sorry.”John gets out between huffs of laughter as Sherlock dries his stomach, deliberately rubbing over the newly discovered ticklish spot.“Can I place an order?”He shoves gently at Sherlock, winking at him when he moves away; John orders a small range of light food and a half bottle of Champagne, ignoring Sherlock’s raised eyebrow, determined to continue their romantic weekend for as long as he can.

John reclines on the bed, comfortable in his nudity and opens his arms, a clear invitation for Sherlock to join him.Sherlock drops the towel inside the open door of the bathroom before climbing on to the bed; quickly making himself comfortable by resting his head on John’s chest, one long leg draped over John’s thighs.John presses a kiss to his forehead and allows himself to believe that they will continue to have this easy intimacy once they return to Baker Street, it is everything, and more, than he ever hoped for.Sherlock amuses himself by running his fingers through the fine dusting of hair on John’s chest, tugging every now and again, desisting only when John gently slaps at his hand.Sherlock chuckles and adjusts his attentions, tracing seemingly random patterns over John’s pectoral.

“Would you really have gone without sex?”The question is casually asked but John knows his answer is important, even given what has just happened between them.

“Yes, most definitely.”He answers truthfully, smiling when Sherlock looks up at him.“I suspect my left hand would have been getting in a lot of regular practice, but if you hadn't wanted a sexual element in our relationship, then I would have survived.”

“You’re selling yourself short, John.”Sherlock responds mildly after a few seconds of silence. 

“Yeah, okay.I’ll bite.”John truly has no idea what Sherlock is implying but he can feel Sherlock smiling against his chest and decides to humour him.“What am I selling myself short about?”

“You’re ambidextrous when you use a gun.”Sherlock plays with John’s fingers where they rest on his bicep.“Your musculature indicates that you are also capable of being ambidextrous in other areas, namely masturbation.So, you were selling yourself short saying it was _only_ your left hand that would be getting regular practice.”

“Are you calling me a wanker, Sherlock Holmes?”John teases, pushing Sherlock on to his back and playfully pinning him down.

“No.I’m calling you a highly skilled wanker, John Watson.”Sherlock responds chuckling, making no serious move to dislodge John beyond a vague flexing of his hips.“Do try to be precise.”

“Which reminds me.”John continues, grinning down at Sherlock. “How did you know that I’d have lube in my toiletries bag?”

“Really?”Sherlock asks, rolling his eyes.“You’ve got me naked beneath you and you ask how I knew you’d have lube?”He pauses to make his point, when John doesn’t respond he continues.“I know that you make use of your shower time at home to.. relieve your tension, shall we say….it really wasn’t the biggest leap to conclude that you would bring it with you this weekend for the same reason.Even an idiot could have deduced ..”

John halts any further words by thoroughly kissing Sherlock. Part of John wishes this was a technique he could use to effectively silence Sherlock when he is being the obnoxious twat that he can so often be, but acknowledges that kissing someone until they submit is not a mature, or healthy, coping mechanism.Instead, John enjoys the feel of a very naked Sherlock beneath him and deepens the kiss further; it is just edging towards something more when there is a knock at their room door.John breaks their kiss with a groan and a muttered ‘timing’, rolling off Sherlock and taking a few deep breaths.

He slides off the bed and grabs the fresh dressing gowns from the bathroom, throwing one in Sherlock’s direction before slipping on his own, adjusting the drape of the material to ensure it hides his nascent erection.He glances at Sherlock, ensuring he is decent, before opening their room door and letting the waiter in with their food.

“Good evening, gentlemen.”The waiter displays no shock or surprise at the sight of two middle-aged men who have clearly been engaging in recent sexual activity.John suspects that he and Sherlock count as very dull and boring compared to some of the things the waiter has probably seen in his daily duties.The waiter transfers the various plates from his trolley on to the table and places the small ice bucket containing the bottle of champagne next to it, carefully positioning each item to look its best.John signs the docket, ensuring that he includes a healthy sized tip, and thanks the waiter for his time, closing the door securely behind him as he leaves.

John chooses a small selection of food and places it on one large plate, before pouring them a glass of champagne each.With care, John carries their champagne in one hand, their food in the other, and heads back to where Sherlock awaits him on the bed; he rests the plate on the covers and passes Sherlock a glass before climbing on to the bed and settling himself opposite Sherlock.

“To us?”John offers as a toast.

“To us.”Sherlock readily agrees, leaning forward a little to chink their glasses.

They eat their food, conversing softly and stealing kisses, the quiet intimacy of the moment requiring no grand gesture.John tops their plate up two more times, their glasses once and is pleasantly surprised at how much they manage to eat and drink, satisfied that neither of them will wake up hungry during what is left of the night.When they finally finish eating John takes the time to clear all the crockery, cutlery and glasses on to the provided trolley and pushes it in to the corridor so that it can be collected by a member of the night staff.He returns to the room to see Sherlock awaiting him in bed, his shoulders and chest bare, his legs covered by the sheets.It’s an enticement that John can’t resist and he slips off his dressing gown before sliding under the covers next to Sherlock, grinning at the obvious approval on Sherlock’s face.They share one final lingering kiss before John turns on to his side, tugging Sherlock’s arm with him so that Sherlock snuggles in close behind, their bodies pressed intimately together.John yawns widely, smiling when he hears Sherlock do the same, and closes his eyes, very content with his life and the world.


	24. Lazy Sunday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He smiles against John’s shoulder when he starts to stir, Sherlock centres his kisses more on John’s neck, nipping and licking as John becomes more alert. He slides his hand round to rest low on John’s stomach, loving the feeling of the soft skin beneath his hand; Sherlock uses his hold on John to pull him more flush against him, groaning into the nape of John’s neck when his cock slides over the firm muscles of John’s backside. John, now very much awake and evidently enjoying the attentions, reaches back for Sherlock’s upper thigh, encouraging Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock wakes, feeling unusually well rested, and inhales deeply.Immediately his senses are overwhelmed with the scent of John and his erection goes from being tentative to being definite very quickly.They are still lying closely together, Sherlock on his side, almost mimicking the curve of John’s body.John is still asleep, facing away from Sherlock, his body relaxed and warm.Sherlock moves in closer to John and drops gentle kisses along his bare shoulder, allowing himself a moment to explore John’s scar with his tongue before returning to kissing, his lips slightly parted, stealing sips of flavour from John’s skin.

He smiles against John’s shoulder when he starts to stir, Sherlock centres his kisses more on John’s neck, nipping and licking as John becomes more alert.He slides his hand round to rest low on John’s stomach, loving the feeling of the soft skin beneath his hand; Sherlock uses his hold on John to pull him more flush against him, groaning into the nape of John’s neck when his cock slides over the firm muscles of John’s backside.John, now very much awake and evidently enjoying the attentions, reaches back for Sherlock’s upper thigh, encouraging Sherlock to continue.

“As nice as this is I have other plans for this morning.” Sherlock murmurs, his lips brushing against John’s ear, his hips still moving against John.With effort he halts his movement, nipping at John’s neck before encouraging him to lie flat on his back.He leans over and kisses John’s willing lips, heedless ofmorning breath, his body flush against John’s side and he moves so that he is lying over John. 

“Open your legs.”He whispers the words against John’s lips, savouring the sensation.

John immediately complies and Sherlock deepens the kiss briefly before moving to brush his lips over the light morning stubble that graces John’s jaw.Sherlock allows his lower lip to drag over John’s skin, deciding there and then to repeat the same motion at different times of the day to compare the texture of John’s stubble.He finds it strange how something as commonplace as stubble can have such a profound effect on him; the slight prickling at his lips sending shivers down his spine.

Sherlock shifts his weight back so that he can kiss along John’s jawline and down on to his neck, sucking lightly at the tender skin and eliciting heartfelt groans of pleasure in reaction.John’s hands come to rest on Sherlock’s back, his blunt nails digging in slightly and Sherlock arches in to the sensation even as he explores John’s collar bones with his lips and teeth.Sherlock has long admired the breadth of John’s shoulders; broader than his slight form would suggest and possessing hidden strength; the clavicles clearly defined, the muscles well formed and tantalising, the skin just waiting to be marked.

Kneeling up, Sherlock trails his fingers over John’s scar, noting texture and temperature, before moving his attention to John’s bicep; after all, there are much more interesting things about John’s body than his scar.John is spread out before him, his strong thighs nestled against Sherlock’s knees, holding him tight, colour flushing his face and chest, hair still sleep mussed, adding to his look of dishevelment.With lingering movements Sherlock wraps his hand around the shape of John’s bicep, eyelids fluttering when John’s flexes his muscle beneath his grip, once again displaying that hidden strength that Sherlock has grown to love so much.Careful fingers trace down John’s arm, stroking over tensed muscles, reading more through touch than through sight but not wanting to close his eyes, even for a second.The muscles in John’s forearm twitch under his light touch, momentarily making them more defined, Sherlock’s breath hitches at the sight but he is determined to continue his explorations.

Lifting John’s hand to his mouth Sherlock uses John’s lax fingers to trace over his full lower lip, deliberately using John’s fascination with his mouth to tease him further, his eyes never leaving John’s, gauging each micro-expression.He licks at the end of John’s middle finger, the slight salty tang making his mouth water and he sucks the tip in, seeking out more, Sherlock’s eyes fall half closed at the taste.John’s pupils dilate further, signalling precisely how much he approves of this particular action.Sherlock sucks the finger in further, exploring the length with his tongue, everything from the short, neatly kept nails to the webbing at the base of John’s fingers gets filed away in Sherlock’s mind palace for future enjoyment.Sherlock teases John, mimicking on his finger what he wants to do to another, very interested and eager, part of his body; John moans and arches his hips up, putting his erection on very obvious display, the unspoken plea as clear as a shout.

Sherlock lets John’s finger slide out of his mouth, eyes closing as John runs the wet digit down over his chest and stomach, his hand briefly brushing against Sherlock’s erection, coming away damp.They both suck in a sharp breath at the contact and it drives Sherlock on.Leaning back over John, he noses at the fine dusting of golden chest hair, his tongue darting out to steal a taste.Sherlock drifts his attention over to John’s nipple, sucking it in to his mouth whilst he plays with the other one, enjoying the way it firms beneath his touch.John’s hand comes up to play with his hair and the sensation sends shivers through his body, his scalp always has been ridiculously sensitive, the sensitivity now registering as sexual stimulus under the touch of a lover.

Continuing to play with John’s nipple, Sherlock moves his exploration to the delicate area of John’s underarm, inhaling the warm smell that is unique to him, before licking at the soft skin, the fine hair tickling at his lips and cheeks.John laughs and twitches but makes no real effort to move away, allowing, and apparently enjoying, Sherlock’s loving investigation of his body.Sherlock’s lips next travel over John’s side, sucking and nipping at the fine musculature over John’s ribs before moving in and nuzzling at the softer flesh of John’s stomach.The muscles twitch and flex at his touch, tensing when he finds a particularly sensitive area, once more this sign of quiet strength serves to heighten Sherlock’s arousal. 

He looks down at John’s body, at the way his cock, generous for a man of John’s build, lies almost flat against his stomach, twitching under Sherlock’s scrutiny.Sherlock watches as a pearly drop of pre-ejaculate makes its way to join the small puddle already on John’s stomach and he fights against the temptation to lap it up and instead buries his nose in thick golden-brown curls, his cheek rubbing against John’s cock.The scent of John is more intense here, more pure, making Sherlock salivate; once again he uses his tongue, licking through the hair, the coarseness against his tongue a wonderful sensation that he hopes to experience frequently.

Sherlock moans as the scent and taste of John surrounds him, barely aware of John’s echoing sound of approval.He moves so that he can run his tongue over John’s erection, pressing it flat to his stomach as he licks; one arm outstretched, his fingers still playing with John’s nipple.With his other hand Sherlock reaches between John’s legs, cupping his testicles before massaging them.John arches his back, his deep groans almost constant sound and Sherlock smiles against John’s shaft; delighted to be the cause of such pleasure.

Giving John’s nipple one final pinch, Sherlock moves his hand down to wrap around John’s cock, revelling in the way the soft skin moves over the hard shaft.He is barely aware of the noises he is making, only that they become more muffled as he takes John in to his mouth.His mouth waters copiously, making his slide over John even easier; from the way John arches and groans, he obviously approves too.Sherlock adjusts his weight and takes John further in, the head of John’s cock nudging at the back of his mouth, John thrusts up into the sensation and Sherlock moves his hand up to rest, hot and heavy, on John’s hip, limiting his range of movement.

“Sorry, sorry.”John pants out.“Just feels so good.”

Sherlock hums his acknowledgement, applying more pressure with his hand as John reacts again.John mumbles another apology and threads his fingers more firmly into Sherlock’s hair, tugging slightly;Sherlock heartily approves of this and demonstrates his approval by redoubling his efforts, sucking John in once more before allowing him to slide partially out, all the time using his tongue to heighten the sensations further.He continues to play with John’s testicles, occasionally applying a light massage to the sensitive skin just behind them, making John pulse in his mouth, flooding it with the flavour of his impending release.

“Sher…”John tugs at Sherlock’s hair. “I’m gonna….”He breaks off, moaning as Sherlock keeps up his attentions, sucking and laving, determined to have John come to completion in his mouth.John arches and stills, his cock thickening on Sherlock’s tongue before he comes, flooding Sherlock’s mouth with semen.Sherlock works him through the last of his of climax, reluctantly releasing him when John twitches, hyper-sensitive. 

Sherlock rests his head on John’s sweat damp thigh, the scent of John surrounding him, his hand tight around his own erection, knowing it won’t take long for him to reach his own climax.His fist moves rapidly over his length, his hips pumping forward to meet his hand.He can hear himself almost whimpering as he chases his release; a release he reaches when John tugs lightly once more at his hair, the barely there pain registering as intense pleasure instead.

For a moment Sherlock stays nestled between John’s thighs, catching his breath, before surging up the bed to capture John’s mouth in a searing kiss, heedless of the ejaculate on the bed or over his hand.The kiss gradually gentles but Sherlock stays where he is, reticent to move away and put an end to this encounter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess they're making up for lost time?!


	25. Domesticity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock squeezes some of John’s shower gel into his palm and runs his hands over John’s skin, gently massaging to create a foam, enjoying the contour of John’s body as he washes him. He has always appreciated the way that John smells; a mix of his natural scent and his choice of toiletries that together make an olfactory portrait that is unmistakable.

“Hmmm.”John hums.“I could definitely get used to mornings like this.”He strokes his hand over Sherlock’s back and Sherlock presses into the touch. 

“I find myself agreeing, much to my surprise.”Sherlock admits, knowing John won’t take his candour amiss. 

“Share a shower with me?”John asks and Sherlock is surprised to hear a note of nervousness in John’s voice.

Sherlock signals his approval by sliding off the bed and offering John his hand, which is readily accepted, allowing Sherlock to help him off the bed.Sherlock pulls him into a kiss, enjoying the feel of John’s naked body against his own, the way his flaccid penis nudges up against the soft flesh of John’s stomach and he prolongs the kiss further, grateful for the love and trust that John demonstrates with each touch of hands and lips. Sherlock loses himself to the kiss for a long moment, only allowing it to end when he feels John shiver in his embrace; reacting more to the cool air of the bedroom than to Sherlock’s touch.John presses a last, lingering kiss to Sherlock’s neck before he leads Sherlock, their hands linked once more, into their bathroom.

Sherlock is relieved to see that although the shower cubicle is large enough for the pair of them, it isn’t so large that it will allow for much space between them; in short, it is ideal.Sherlock reaches inside the cubicle and turns on the shower, rinsing his semen smeared hand off beneath the spray, his other hand still in John’s grasp.When he deems that the water is warm enough he steps inside, tugging John in after him, admiring the way the water darkens his hair and runs in rivulets down his much loved body. 

They share a kiss under the shower spray, water getting in their eyes, ears and mouths and yet it is still one of the more wonderful things that Sherlock has experienced.He briefly allows himself to think that for John this is probably old hat before pushing the thought firmly away; their pasts do not matter, only here and now matters, with a long and happy future before them.Sherlock squeezes some of John’s shower gel into his palm and runs his hands over John’s skin, gently massaging to create a foam, enjoying the contour of John’s body as he washes him.He has always appreciated the way that John smells; a mix of his natural scent and his choice of toiletries that together make an olfactory portrait that is unmistakable.He takes his time washing John, eliciting light giggles when he washes under John’s arms and his feet, and light sighs of appreciation when he tenderly cleans John’s genitalia; if he lingers slightly longer washing this particular area neither man mentions it - or complains.Sherlock takes his time washing John’s hair, letting it slide between his fingers as he massages John’s scalp.John steadies himself with his hands on Sherlock’s waist, fingers squeezing in time with Sherlock’s, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted.Sherlock dips in for a kiss and John pulls him in closer, together they shuffle under the shower stream, letting the water rinse the suds away. 

They switch positions and Sherlock closes his eyes, concentrating on the way John’s hands feel as they glide over his skin.He flushes and opens his eyes when his penis begins to harden at John's touch, embarrassed that he seems so eager when John had remained flaccid throughout.

“God you’re gorgeous.”John’s hand briefly tightens around him, obviously tempted to continue, but his stomach grumbles again and he laughs, his flush matching Sherlock’s.“We _will_ be continuing this later.”John’s words and smile are enough to erase Sherlock’s embarrassment,John’s body may not be displaying the same physical signs but his words suggest that he is as eager as Sherlock. John continues his careful cleansing of Sherlock, taking extra time when washing Sherlock’s hair, much to his enjoyment. 

They finally emerge, pink-skinned and dripping wet, almost thirty minutes after first entering the shower, they share smiles and take every opportunity to touch each other.Sherlock wraps a towel around his waist and grabs another of the soft towels and gently dries John, taking his time to ensure he reaches everywhere.The attention isn’t sexual, although Sherlock knows it could turn that way if they wanted it to, but it is an expression of his love, a love that he never thought he would get to express.Sherlock smiles at John as he kneels before him, drying John’s lower leg, John looks at him with such love clear on his face that Sherlock wonders how he missed seeing it for so long. Sherlock presses a kiss to John’s hip bone before rising, all graceful ease, to stand before John.

“My turn.”John takes his time drying Sherlock and Sherlock leans in to each touch, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.He bends down slightly to give John better access to his hair, knowing that his hair will be virtually unmanageable after the way that John is drying it but unwilling to give up the sensation.When they are both dry they stand side by side and clean their teeth, still stealing glances at each other, smiling around their toothbrushes.John leaves the bathroom first, allowing Sherlock time to relieve himself and quickly dampen his hair down before applying hair product in a likely futile attempt to tame it.Sherlock exits the bathroom after a few minutes, letting John make use of the toilet in peace, taking the opportunity to admire the way John’s backside looks clad in close fitting boxers as he passes Sherlock.

Sherlock dresses quickly but carefully in dark trousers and the mid-blue shirt he had rejected the night before; he is sat on the edge of the bed pulling on his socks when John emerges from the bathroom.Sherlock watches with open appreciation as John gets dressed, the dark jeans and light-blue shirt very flattering to his build and colouring.John leaves the first few buttons of his shirt undone and rolls his sleeves back, exposing his forearms, grinning when he looks over at Sherlock, very aware of the effect he is having.Sherlock rises and walks over to him, eyes flicking to John’s mouth when he licks his lips; when he gets close enough he runs his fingers over John’s exposed skin, first on his arms, then between the open buttons and leans in for a kiss.He stops millimetres away, John’s breath on his lips, his fingers still trailing over skin, staying in position just long enough for John to lean in before pulling away.

“Breakfast, John?”He asks, moving towards the room door.

“You cock.”John replies, laughter colouring his voice, his hand coming to rest just between Sherlock’s shoulder blades.

“Yep.”Sherlock agrees, enjoying the warmth of John’s hand on his back as they walk towards the lift.“You wouldn’t want me any other way.”He smiles down at John beside him.

“No, I wouldn’t.” John readily agrees, guiding Sherlock into the lift.“I really wouldn’t.”

They are quickly lead to a secluded table upon arrival at the restaurant and Sherlock receives his breakfast menu with a nod of gratitude, surprised at how hungry he is.John is already perusing his menu, sucking lightly on his lower lip as he makes his decision.They both place an order for coffee, toast and a cooked breakfast when the waiter returns, giggling like school boys when they meet the other’s eye, fully aware of why they are so hungry despite having eaten only a few hours earlier.

Their coffee arrives first and they sip at it contentedly, Sherlock idly scans the room - more out of habit than necessity - before his gaze settles back on John.John drinks his coffee, his attention currently on the gardens that he can see outside of the window, giving Sherlock the perfect opportunity to admire, unobserved, the way the sunlight shines through his eyelashes, making them appear like spun gold, and highlights the strong line of his jaw.Sherlock reaches across and takes John’s free hand in his own, his heart skips a beat when John faces him and smiles before bringing Sherlock’s hand to his lips and kissing it.It’s a simple gesture but it conveys such a depth of emotion that Sherlock finds it hard to look away, only managing to do so when the waiter arrives with their breakfast.


	26. A Rose by any other name.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John watches as Sherlock continues to blink, knowing that he is processing what has been said but becomes concerned when the time continues to tick by. “Sherlock?” John moves closer and studies Sherlock’s face, worry beginning to really kick in. “Oh shit, I’ve actually broken you this time, haven't I?” John releases one of Sherlock’s hand and reaches up to touch his face. “Sherlock?”

“What do you want to do today, Sherlock?Is there somewhere you’d like to go?”John asks, finishing the last of his coffee and wiping his mouth on his napkin, pleasantly full from his breakfast.He leans back in his chair and discretely stretches out his back, elongating his torso as he does so and tilting his head from side to side, eyes closed as he relaxes.When he opens his eyes again he is gratified to see Sherlock eyeing him appreciatively, even more gratified when Sherlock doesn’t glance away.

“I rather think I’d like to stay close to our room today, John.”Sherlock responds, half teasing, a light blush staining his high cheekbones, eyes sparkling and his full lips quirked into a soft smile.

“Yeah?”John clears his throat, briefly glancing down, a little embarrassed at how rough his voice sounds but returning Sherlock’s soft smile. 

John had always secretly hoped that if he and Sherlock were ever to embark on a romantic relationship that it would involve a sexual element too, but he had genuinely meant it when he said that he would happily go without.John has to admit he is very pleasantly surprised, and relieved, with the course this weekend has taken.Not only is Sherlock happy with there being sex within their relationship, he is actively creating opportunities for it and responding with a level of love and eagerness that John has barely allowed himself to dream of. 

“How about a slow wander down to see your bees again?Walk off some of our breakfast?”John resists the temptation of dragging Sherlock back to their room to spend the rest of the day in bed, exploring the various ways of bringing each other sexual pleasure; instead he simply smiles to himself about how maturity has meant he can recognise and appreciate the pleasure that comes from spending time with a loved one, without feeling that time not having sex was time wasted.Sherlock raises an eyebrow at the smile but John merely shakes his head in response, shockingly, Sherlock doesn’t probe any further.

“They are not my bees, John.”Sherlock states, each word carefully enunciated as if to communicate a simple idea to someone who has heard it before but still can’t quite understand the concept.Despite the cool words, he links his hand with John’s as they leave the restaurant, the action natural and happily accepted.Sherlock glances down at John walking by his side and his voice softens.“But yes, that sounds like a nice idea.”

They amble along in comfortable silence, in no real rush to get anywhere, their hands still loosely linked, taking a moment to stop at the little pond they had previously admired.The fish swim to the surface, hopeful for some food from their human visitors, their colours bright in the sparkling water as they dart around.John is struck by how delighted Rosie would be to see them, smiling at the thought of how patient Sherlock would be with her, crouched down at her side and telling her all about them; something of his thoughts must show on his face.

“Are you calling young Watson today?”Sherlock enquires lightly, looking over at John before watching their reflection in the water once more.

“Why do you call her that?”John frowns up at Sherlock; it’s something that has bothered him for a while but until recently he never thought to question it. 

“It’s her name.”Sherlock’s response is light but he doesn’t look at John again, his gaze, unseeing, is back on the pond, even though his hand is still in John’s his posture is mildly defensive.

“Only part of it.”John hesitates before deciding that they very much need to have this conversation.He takes a deep breath and continues.“Mycroft had something to say on the matter.”

“I bet he did.”Sherlock answers bitterly, trying to tug his hand out of John’s. “He just can’t help sticking that long nose of his in where it doesn’t belong.”

“Was he right though?”John refuses to let go of Sherlock’s hand or let himself be put off by the bitterness in Sherlock’s voice.

“Despite appearances, I can’t actually read minds.” Sherlock tries one last time to free his hand before finally giving up, his expression going from annoyed to dismissive.

“A couple of months ago, Mycroft came to ours to deliver the ‘Elstree’ files, the ones to do with the retired actor and the ex-secret service guy?”John watches Sherlock as he speaks, trying to read the micro-expressions he has so often missed before. “You thumbed through them quickly then sodded off but before you left you ensured you said goodbye to Rosie.As you always do.”John squeezes Sherlock’s hand, a smile flitting over his lips as he recalls Sherlock’s insistence that they always say goodbye to Rosie.“Mycroft watched the whole interaction and when you had left he asked me if I knew why you kept calling her ‘Watson’.Of course, I didn’t.He gave that bloody smug smile of his and told me to ask you.Said there was more behind it than I knew.”John takes a few deep breaths and carefully turns Sherlock so that their bodies face each other.“So, I'm asking you now.Why do you call her ‘Watson’?”

For a long time John doesn’t think Sherlock will answer, or even look at him.He is just beginning to accept that he may never know when Sherlock turns his head to look at him, silver-blue eyes worried, his voice subdued.“It’s so that I don't think of her as mine.”

It’s like a punch to the gut but John is quick to reassure Sherlock, surprised that it needs to be said; cross at himself for having never said it before.“But she is, Sherlock.She is.”John insists, Sherlock is blinking rapidly but John thinks he is still listening and carries on talking, both of Sherlock’s hands now held tightly in his own.“She might not share your DNA, but she's your daughter as much as she is mine.Fatherhood is more than genetics.”

John watches as Sherlock continues to blink, knowing that he is processing what has been said but becomes concerned when the time continues to tick by.“Sherlock?” John moves closer and studies Sherlock’s face, worry beginning to really kick in.“Oh shit, I’ve actually broken you this time, haven't I?”John releases one of Sherlock’s hand and reaches up to touch his face.“Sherlock?”

“Fatherhood?”John lets out a sigh of relief at Sherlock’s question, the blinking has gone but a deep furrow rests on Sherlock’s brow and John knows that Sherlock still hasn’t quite grasped what to John is a very simple matter indeed.

“Yes, she's _our_ little girl.”John stresses.“She loves you and I _know_ you love her.”John hesitates, sucking on the inside of his cheeks before decide to plunge headlong on, ever the brave soldier.“I was wondering, have been for a while, if you'd like to make it official, you know, being her dad, and adopt her?” 

“Adopt her?” Sherlock echoes, his hands suddenly on John’s shoulders, his grip bordering on painful.His eyes flitting over John’s face, searching for god knows what and John panics.

“God, I'm probably going too fast for you.Overwhelming you.”He looks around to try and find somewhere for them to sit, not seeing anything but still moving Sherlock forward.They make awkward but steady progress, Sherlock still gripping John firmly.Sherlock goes where John leads him, unprotesting, for a long moment before coming to a sudden halt and his face suddenly clears, like the sun coming out after a storm.

“No, I’d …….. I’d love that!”The words fall over themselves in their rush to come out, his hold on John loosens, his eyes still searching John’s face.“Are you sure? It’s a big step.”

“She's already your daughter, Love.It would just make it all very official.”John smiles up at Sherlock and decides to text Mycroft later, confident that he will have some way to get the adoption processed quickly.

“What would she call me?”Sherlock asks, once again linking one hand with John’s as they resume walking, heading towards a bench that John has finally noticed.

“She already often calls you daddy or dadda, what’s wrong with that?”John queries as they sit down,“We just let her keep calling you that and we start using it too.No more directing her to call you Sherlock instead.She’ll be using it all the time before we know it, she’s a clever girl.”

“I know.”Sherlock nudges John’s shoulder with his own.“Gets it from her dad.”

“Her dads.”John corrects, pleased when Sherlock doesn’t dispute it.

“But she calls you daddy.”John is saddened to see the reappearance of the worried frown. “Won’t that be confusing for her?”

“She's hardly the first kid to have two dads, Sherlock.”John reassures.“I don't imagine every family has a separate moniker for each man; but we can think of another one if you’d rather.”

“No,I… I think I’d like that. Daddy.”Sherlock responds in wonder, eyes wide, a soft smile playing over his full lips.“Rosie Watson’s daddy.” 

“We could do Rosie Watson-Holmes if you want?I mean, I’d love that…”John trails off when Sherlock nods emphatically in agreement.

“I’d love that too.”Sherlock’s squeezes John’s hands, eyes bright with tears of happiness.

“Yeah?” John licks his lips, heart pounding, deciding to jump in with both feet.“And us?Shall we change our names too?”

“John…. I…” Sherlock shakes his head, clearly unsure of what he is hearing.“Are you asking, what I think you’re asking?”

“I’m asking if you would consider marrying me.”John looks down at their joined hands, laughing nervously.“I really hadn’t planned this, but yeah, it feels right to be asking this now, here.Sherlock…”He glances up, his words trailing off at the sight before him.“Christ, I’m going too fast, aren’t I? Again!I’m rushing things, I….”He breaks off as the sound of laughter rings out bright and true.“Sherlock?”

“I would hardly call ten years ‘rushing things’, John.”Sherlock responds, still laughing.

“Is that…?Is that a yes?”John asks, looking up into Sherlock’s face, eyes searching.

“Yes.”Sherlock leans in and kisses him, the sensation persisting even after the embrace ends.“How could the answer be anything else?”Before John has the chance to respond, Sherlock pulls him in for another, more lingering, kiss.


	27. A Different Kind of Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally feels like he can participate in the conversation without looking like an utter imbecile. Conversations with Sherlock are often like walking on quicksand, but this one has been more challenging than usual.

John looses track of how long they sit on the bench, awkwardly positioned, arms wrapped around each other, their kisses growing more heated as they continue.The sun is warm on John’s skin, the breeze gently ruffles his hair and Sherlock's lips are both soft and demanding; a delicious combination that keep John returning for more, time and again.A small part of him a little self-conscious of how public they are, it has nothing to do with the fact that he is locked in a heated embrace with another man, but rather that he is an Englishman of a certain age and being seen snogging in the garden, with anyone, simply isn’t done.The rest of him is more than happy with this impromptu kissing session, although he is beginning to think they would be best continuing this inside.He breaks their kiss, pulling back slightly, one hand dropping from the nape of Sherlock’s neck to rest lightly on his shoulder, the other coming to rest on Sherlock’s thigh, to speak when Sherlock beats him to it.

“We need to go shopping.” Sherlock’s own hands mimic the positioning of John’s, the heat of a broad palm seeping through the denim of John’s jeans, doing nothing to alter his idea of continuing this, with less clothes, back in their room.

“What? Why?”It takes John a moment to clear his head from the delicious path his thoughts had been taking.“Oh!You want a ring.I’m sorry, I didn't stop to think, I should have had a ring before I asked.” He takes his hand from Sherlock’s shoulder, linking their fingers together when Sherlock does the same.

“A ring? What an earth do I want a ring for?”The frown is back on Sherlock’s face and John is sure he’s missing something vital but continues valiantly onwards nevertheless.

“An engagement ring.”John queries. “No?”Shaking his head when Sherlock continues to look at him, now utterly convinced he has missed an important conversation somehow.

“No.Isuspect we won’t have a long engagement and then we will both have our wedding rings, I don’t need another piece of jewellery to mark our short betrothal.No, that’s not why we need to go shopping.”A light flush sits high on Sherlock’s cheeks, John barely acknowledges it, writing it off as the sun warming Sherlock’s pale skin.

“Why then?I don't understand.”John really thinks this should become the catchphrase of his life, or at least his life with Sherlock.

“Condoms, we need to buy condoms.”Sherlock enunciates clearly, the flush deepening on his cheeks.

“What?”John’s mind is still playing catch up from Sherlock’s casual implication that they will be married soon and he’s quite certain that he must have misheard.

“We've just got engaged, John, and I have a sudden, desperate need for us to have sex.”Sherlock’s voice has dropped an octave and any clarity John may have been gaining is, once again, lost.

“We've been having sex.”John frowns, and clarifies what he means.“Well, obviously, not at this precise moment, but I was rather under the impression that we have been having sex.”

“We have.”It is painfully obvious to John that Sherlock is fighting the temptation to roll his eyes and he can’t help but be grateful for the effort.“It’s been tremendously enjoyable so far but now I want to have penetrative sex, John.Do keep up.”

“Are you sure?It wasn’t that long ago you were worried about any kind of sex, we don’t need to rush, we can take our time.We don’t need to do everything this weekend, we have the rest of lour lives after all.”John finally feels like he can participate in the conversation without looking like an utter imbecile.Conversations with Sherlock are often like walking on quicksand, but this one has been more challenging than usual.

“I know and I promise you I am not rushing into this.”Sherlock chews on his lower lip briefly, a sure sign of nervousness. “I just want you so much.I've dreamed of being with you so often, masturbated to the thought of us having penetrative sex so much, and now we are finally _here_. Finally together.”

“Jesus, Sherlock.” Once again, John finds himself unable to speak and Sherlock rushes on, his nerves making his words come faster than usual.

“If you don't want to, I understand, but I'm letting you know that I do.”Again, Sherlock chews on his lip, eyes flicking over John’s features.“But if you do want penetrative sex with me, then when would be better than this weekend?Than now?There’s no landlady, no toddler, no cases and no obnoxious brother to interrupt.It’s just us.”

John scrambles around for the polite, loving way to say, ‘yes, I’d love to fuck you or have you fuck me,’ but before he finds the words Sherlock is talking again.

“I want to have penetrative sex.I don't mind if you penetrate me or if I penetrate you.Ideally, I want to try both methods of penetrative sex.”His cheeks are now flushed a deep pink, a colour that John thinks his own cheeks must be matching.

“Stop it with the ‘penetrate’.”John finally blurts out, so far away from what he meant to say that he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Is it making you feel uncomfortable?Would you rather not have penetrative sex?”Sherlock’s nose scrunches up as he tries to read the unfamiliar situation.

“God no, I would love to do that.”John’s answer is heartfelt and he laughs softly.“It’s just you’ve used one form or another of the word ‘penetrate’ so many times now, it just sounds ridiculous.”

“So, you’d like to..do that?” Sherlock’s words are hesitant, unsure, almost as if he can’t believe what he is hearing.

“Yes.I’d really love to try that with you.” John hastens to reassure him.“I thought we’d already established that I’m up for trying pretty much everything with you.”Anticipating Sherlock’s next question, John continues speaking.“And I have no preference whatsoever over which way we do it.Like you, I’d like to eventually experience both.”

“Oh, good.”Sherlock smiles at John, eyes bright and worry-free.“The question still stands though, do we need to purchase condoms?I have a clean bill of health but you may want them used anyway.”

“All clean here too -Regular health checks at the clinic and a few years of celibacy.”John responds, unable to stop himself from thinking how almost surreal it is to be sitting holding hands with Sherlock on a wooden bench in the Spring sunshine, matter-of-factly talking about their sex lives.“We don’t need to be using them if you don't want to, if I’d had any concerns I would have insisted we’d used them for oral sex.”

“I’d rather we didn’t, I want to be able to feel _you.”_ Sherlock admits, his voice once again in the lower register and just the sound of it makes John salivate.

_“_ Might as well add it to the lists of other firsts this weekend.”John says the words casually but he watches carefully for how Sherlock reacts to them.

“Firsts?”The confused brow furrow is back once again and John is rather enjoying seeing Sherlock being the confused one for once; it’s a guilty pleasure but a pleasure nonetheless.

“Yes.”John smiles and releases Sherlock’s hands so he can list things off on his fingers, knowing that Sherlock will appreciate the visual.“First time giving a hand job; first time receiving a hand job from a bloke; first time giving a blow job, first time receiving a blow job from a bloke; first time sharing a shower in a sexual manner with another man.”John bends down a finger for each item, watching as Sherlock’s eyes widen, it seems that not even Sherlock Holmes knows everything. “And soon, first time having penetrative sex with a man, either giving or receiving.Plus, first time having penetrative sex, of any sort, without a condom.” 

“So you’ve never..”Sherlock trails off and John lowers his hands again to take Sherlock’s back in his own.

“Nope.You're my first too.” 

“What about kissing another man?”Sherlock asks quickly and John realises that Sherlock has been wanting to know this information about him for a long time. “

“Like you, I have kissed other men, but I never took it any further than a bit of light fondling.”John sucks in a breath, determined to be honest with Sherlock - and himself.“Truthfully, I don’t know if it was because I was never interested enough orif I was just never brave enough to take it any further.But with you .. you make me brave, Sherlock.For you, I'm brave enough.”

“Oh.” It’s not really the response that John was expecting, although he's not really sure what he was expecting and he feels a little disappointed.A gentle squeeze of his hands soothes some of the feeling away.

“Is that ok?”Not really sure what he can do about the matter if it isn’t but needing to ask anyway.

“Yes, of course it is, I just presumed..”Sherlock uncharacteristically trails off, seemingly unwilling to finish.

“Presumed what?”John is not entirely sure he wants to know but acknowledges that it is important to push forward with the conversation.

“Sholto.”Sherlock looks away guiltily before meeting John’s eye again.

“Honestly?”John takes a few deep breaths, realising it’s going to be that sort of conversation.“There was a definite attraction between us, even went as far as a few clandestine kisses and touches but he didn't appear to be able to offer more and I wasn’t interested enough to push for more than we had.”John admits, now wondering whether it was his lack of interest or his lack of bravery that made him not want to push for more.Either way, any attraction he ever felt for Sholto has long since died; even seeing Sholto again at the wedding had not done more than revive a few pleasant memories.

“And what did you have?”The words could easily be read as jealousy but John recognises them for what they are - curiosity, with just a touch of insecurity.

“A mutual appreciation and respect for the other person that turned into a brief physical attraction whilst under the pressures of war.”John explains simply, realising as he says it that his infatuation with Sholto had been nothing more than that, an infatuation.

“Brief?”

“Very brief.”John assures, letting out a bark of shocked laughter when he is unexpectedly dragged from the seat, the seriousness of their conversation suddenly forgotten.“In a rush are you?”

“I had plans.Plans that got sidetracked, albeit pleasurably, last night.”Sherlock says over his shoulder as he drags John along in his wake.“Plans that I want to follow up on in more detail now.Plans that involve lube, fingers and penises.”

John stumbles over his own feet at these words but recovers quickly, hurrying to catch up with his fiancé, a broad grin on his face.


	28. His Loving Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bloody … fiddly little buggers…” John mutters, finally looking down at what he is doing and making much better progress. He pulls Sherlock’s shirt from his trousers and pushes it unceremoniously off his shoulders, letting it drop in a crumpled heap on the floor. “Finally.” The words are breathed against Sherlock’s chest seconds before warm lips start smothering heated kisses over exposed skin, eliciting heartfelt groans from both men.

John and Sherlock manage to restrain themselves in the lift, each assiduously avoiding the other’s eye, unsure whether they’d fall on to each other with gales of laughter or grab at each other in passion.Sherlock exits the lift first, once more pulling John along after him; John doesn't resist in the slightest although his shorter legs take a little longer than he’d like to match Sherlock’s swiftness. They tumble, giggling and breathless, through their hotel door the moment that Sherlock manages to get it unlocked.

Sherlock backs John against the door, his breath billowing over John’s skin in warm puffs.For a moment he just looks down at John, admiring the flushed cheeks and tousled hair and the way his lips rest, slightly parted, in a soft smile.With a sudden flurry of movement he pulls the door open again, ignoring John’s token protest at being shoved around in the process, and hangs the ‘Do Not Disturb’ notice on the door.Closing the door firmly, Sherlock turns the bolt and tests that it is indeed firmly locked.Satisfied, he holds out his open palm to John.

“Phone.”It’s not an order but John happily complies, handing his phone over without complaint.

Long fingers enter his passcode - John has long since given up even trying to hide it - and with quick swipes and a press of a button John’s phone is completely turned off.Sherlock flips it over in one hand before sliding the phone into his trouser pocket; a second later his own phone undergoes the same treatment.

“There.No disturbances.”Sherlock studies John’s smiling but slightly apprehensive face, easily deducing the reason for his concern. “If something happens where we are needed both Mycroft and Lestrade know where we are and the hotel will be alerted.The staff know to ignore the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign if there’s an emergency.” He strokes lightly over John’s cheek, enjoying the feel of light stubble beneath his fingertips. “But there won’t be.”He leans in, ducking his head to steal a willing kiss, his forearm resting against the door just to the side of John’s head.“Now, where were we?” 

He ducks in again and the kiss starts light, almost tentative, their lips the only point of contact; John smiles into it and pushes up slightly on the balls of his feet, deepening the kiss.For a while, they stay leaning against the door, tongues gently brushing, lips parting briefly before meeting again.Sherlock is torn between spending a lazy hour or two just kissing John, eliciting happy sighs and moans, and pushing himself against John, stripping him bare, before leading him to the bed and making good on his earlier suggestion of sex.John nips lightly at Sherlock’s lower lip, soothing it with his tongue, his hand coming up to grip at the nape of Sherlock’s neck, even as his other hand slips around Sherlock’s waist, pulling him closer. 

Sherlock groans in to the kiss, pushing his hips against John, groaning again at the welcome pressure against his erection.He adjusts his stance slightly, bending at the knees to bring his hips in line with John’s; deepening the kiss, he rocks against John, both forearms now resting against the door, caging him in.John pulls Sherlock even more firmly against him and Sherlock finally breaks, allowing himself to act on pure instinct.Dropping his arms down he wraps them around John, pulling him forcibly away from the door, John responds by trying to pull himself even closer, his fingers sliding up into Sherlock’s curls and clutching at them.Pulling Sherlock’s head back to nip and suck at the long column of his neck; Sherlock growls at the touch, surprising them both at the sound, elongating his neck further, encouraging further attentions.

John’s hands slide between them and he tries to undo Sherlock’s buttons, the kisses and nips on Sherlock’s neck now interspersed with swear words and tugs at the fine material.Sherlock laughs and reaches between them, wanting to help, only to have his hands slapped away; he chuckles and repositions his hands to John’s hips.His heart is racing in his chest and he feels hot all over but he realises he has never felt more alive, more awake, like he has only been half aware up until this point.John continues to struggle with the buttons, making slow but steady progress and suddenly Sherlock needs to feel John’s skin beneath his fingertips.With two sharp tugs he has John’s shirt pulled out of his jeans, John pauses briefly in his administrations when Sherlock’s broad hands slide along his skin, just above his waistband, before redoubling his efforts to get Sherlock out of his shirt.

“Bloody … fiddly little buggers…”John mutters, finally looking down at what he is doing and making much better progress.He pulls Sherlock’s shirt from his trousers and pushes it unceremoniously off his shoulders, letting it drop in a crumpled heap on the floor.“Finally.”The words are breathed against Sherlock’s chest seconds before warm lips start smothering heated kisses over exposed skin, eliciting heartfelt groans from both men.

Sherlock’s hands move to undo John’s shirt buttons, needing to feel his skin against his own, but makes slow progress, his attention becoming distracted time and time again as John continues to smother his chest and neck with nipping kisses.He finally slips the last button free, a smug smile briefly flittering across his lips at the fact that he’d managed the task more quickly than John, before he shoves John’s shirt over his shoulders.Sherlock watches the way John’s muscles flex beneath his skin as he wriggles his arms out of his shirt, letting it fall to join Sherlock’s on the floor. His hands drop to undo the buckle of John’s belt, making short work of it before moving on to unfastening John’s jeans.He pushes them from John’s hips, letting them rest mid thigh, before slipping his hands inside the back of John’s boxer shorts, squeezing large handfuls of surprisingly muscular flesh as he attempts to guide them towards the bed.

John allows himself to be manoeuvred for a few steps before it becomes too awkward as his jeans tangle around his knees. “Stop, stop a minute.”John reluctantly releases his hold on Sherlock and toes off his shoes, swearing under his breath when his left shoe takes more work.He wriggles about a bit more, stepping on the end of each sock so that they come off, before shoving his jeans off. John glances up and meets Sherlock’s gaze, Sherlock arches his eyebrow and looks pointedly at John’s boxer shorts, John takes the hint and removes his final item of clothing, standing unashamedly nude in front of Sherlock.

“Your turn.”John nods in Sherlock’s direction, a smile playing over his handsome features, his gaze taking in every inch of Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock feels his cheeks heat under John’s scrutiny, arousal colouring his pale skin.He meets John’s eye and slips his own shoes off, kicking them to one side, before employing John’s method of sock removal, his long toes wriggling briefly in the plush carpet.Finally he unfastens his trousers, letting them fall to the floor before pushing his underwear down to join them.He steps gracefully out of the pile of clothes and once more takes John in his arms, both men making contented noises as sensitive skin meets sensitive skin.

Together they move to the bed, sharing increasingly desperate kisses as they go, falling on it after they bump in to the edge of the mattress.Sherlock scrambles on, dragging a very willing John with him.They lose themselves in their embrace for a few minutes, John nestled between Sherlock’s legs, their hands constantly exploring the other, flitting from hair to hips to backside, never settling.Sherlock finally flings one hand to the side, obviously reaching for something.John makes an interrogative sound against his lips.

“Lube.Top drawer.”

John stretches out and opens the drawer, scrabbling inside to reach the bottle, his movement presses him firmly against Sherlock’s erection making him clutch at John, his fingers digging deeply into John’s backside.For a moment John remains where he is, eyes half closed in pleasure as Sherlock thrusts against him, his penis leaving a damp trail on his skin.He scrambles back in position when he realises that it feels like far too long since he got a taste of Sherlock’s lips.He leaves the lube next to them on the bed before pressing his lips against Sherlock’s, losing himself in the heady sensation for long minutes until Sherlock pulls away, licking his lips and looking thoroughly mussed.

“Who…what should…”Sherlock is uncharacteristically lost for words and rolls his eyes in frustration.Luckily John, ever perceptive John, knows exactly what Sherlock is trying to ask.

John licks his own lips, an unconscious mimicry, before clearing his throat. “I was thinking that perhaps you could make love to me.”

“Surely, we would both be making love?”Sherlock teases, wanting John to say the words.

“Git.”John responds lightly.“I meant that I think you should be the one penetrating me.”He elaborates further when he hears Sherlock’s breathing hitch, realising that his words are serving to arouse Sherlock further.“You should use your fingers to open me, relax me enough to take you, and then you should ease your cock into me.”He hesitates and takes a risk, hoping that Sherlock will respond well to a little vulgarity.“And then I think you should fuck me until we both come, at which point I rather suspect I will be yelling out your name.”The widening of Sherlock’s eyes and the way he grabs John and flips them over so that he is between John’s thighs, reassures John that his risk has paid off.

“John.”Sherlock gasps against John’s lips, his hands gripping John’s hips as their cocks rub together, his eyelids fluttering in pleasure.

John brings one of Sherlock’s hands up to his lips, gifting each elegant finger with a tender kiss even as he reaches for the lube bottle.He bends his knees, bracketing Sherlock’s lean body, before flicking open the lube.John drizzles Sherlock’s fingers with the cool substance and encourages him to move back slightly before guiding Sherlock’s hand between them.Sherlock takes a deep breath as he watches his hand being guided down John’s body, between his legs, wonder on his face when John rubs Sherlock’s fingers over his entrance.

“Have you…?” Sherlock queries, glancing back up at John’s face, before returning his gaze to where his hand disappears between John’s legs.

“Yeah, just my own fingers.” John breaks off as he guides one of Sherlock’s fingers inside him.“No toys or anything, but yeah, I’ve always found it enjoyable, if a little frustrating.” His words becoming more breathy as Sherlock starts to work his finger slowly in and out.

“Frustrating?”Sherlock watches as his hand moves, biting his lip when John encourages him to slide two fingers inside him, swallowing when John lets out a heartfelt groan and pushes his hips up to meet Sherlock’s movements.

“Prostate.Couldn’t quite reach the damn thing with any degree of accuracy.”John huffs out, rubbing his head against the pillow, eyes closing with pleasure as Sherlock keeps up his steady movements.“Lack of flexibility, more than anything.”

Sherlock concentrates and moves his fingers slightly differently, grinning when John yelps in surprise, the sudden noise dissolving into a sound of sheer pleasure.

“Oh god, that was it.” John reaches for Sherlock’s wrist and encourages him to continue, groaning unrestrainedly, heat prickling over his skin in pleasurable waves. 

Sherlock eagerly watches the way that John arches off the bed, giving himself over completely to the pleasure he is receiving and he swallows against the rush of saliva that fills his mouth.His own cock is aching but he ignores it for now, watching John’s face as he inserts a third finger, reducing how much he plays with John’s prostate, fearful of over stimulating him at this stage.

“Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look?”Sherlock chokes out.

John laughs, swallowing twice before managing to speak. “Me?”

“Fucking gorgeous.”Sherlock surprises himself with his terminology and the way he growls out the words.

“Then get on and…..”John breaks off, gasping at a particularly clever manoeuvre of Sherlock’s fingers. “Christ…..”He swallows and tries again.“Get on and fuck me then.”

Sherlock slides his fingers out and reaches for the lube, squeezing some in to his palm with a shaking hand as John reaches for a pillow, shoving it under his hips; part of Sherlock’s mind registers that this means John wants them to be face to face and that the pillow will enable him to reach John’s prostate more easily.Sherlock realises with a start that he is not the only one who has been researching anal sex, this knowledge soothes him, stops the shaking of his hands and breath.He smooths the lube over his aching erection, hissing slightly at the sensation, before positioning himself at John’s entrance, waiting for John’s slight nod before he eases slowly in. 

He stops, holding himself up on straining arms, when he sees John’s brows furrow slightly, biting at his lower lip.“Okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit….”John flexes his hips.“Full.”

“Want me to..”Sherlock pulls out a little, halting when John grabs at his arse.

“Don’t you bloody dare!It’s good, really good, just a little more..” He hunts around for the words. “Overwhelming than I’d imagined. But, yeah, good.”He tugs on Sherlock’s backside, encouraging him to move again.

Sherlock obliges, all the time watching John’s face for signs of discomfort.The sensation is indescribable and he knows he has found a new addiction; their bodies intimately connected and entwined, pulses racing as he reaches for the best high he knows he will ever experience.He alters the angle of his hips, fighting to retain control, as John shouts out in pleasure when his prostate is directly stimulated.John moves with him, their bodies - as they so often are - completely in time and unison; John hooks his lower legs over Sherlock’s hips, his feet bumping against Sherlock’s arse with each thrust. 

A low murmuring starts up and it takes a moment for Sherlock to realise that the sound is coming from John, a near constant litany of encouragement and approval, all interspersed with curse words.Sherlock collapses, bracing his weight on his forearms, his thighs trembling with exertion.

“That’s it, Sherlock.Just let go.”John drags his nails down Sherlock’s back, causing him to writhe and redouble his efforts.“Christ, yeah, that’s it..”John trails off as Sherlock hits his prostate on every stroke.

John may no longer have words but his body telegraphs his needs clearly; nails digging in and legs clenching around Sherlock as he moves.Sweat is forming on Sherlock’s skin, running between his shoulder blades, prickling along his hairline.John kisses the tender area just under Sherlock’s ear and it’s enough to send Sherlock over the edge, his hips moving erratically, his careful rhythm destroyed.The sensations that flood through him are akin to tasting pure Ambrosia, the sensations elysian as he speeds towards his completion. 

Sherlock retains just enough self awareness to shuffle a hand between them, wrapping his large hand firmly around John’s erection.They both groan at the sensation, working together to achieve completion; each determined to give intense pleasure to the other, even as they drown in their own.Sherlock only manages a few well placed thrusts before he collapses on John, his climax ripping through him with a shout; he distantly registers a corresponding yell from John and wetness spilling over his hand before he loses himself to the all encompassing rapture of the moment.

A few minutes later, although it could easily be hours Sherlock concedes lazily, and he regains awareness of his situation, easing out of John before flopping down half on top of him.

“Wow.”John laughs, the master of understatement, as ever.

Sherlock hums languidly in acknowledgement, a foolish grin tugging at his lips.“Wow, indeed.My research, and limited experience, gave no indication that it would be like this.Feel like this.Is this how it ordinarily feels?”

“Not in my experience.”John admits, running his fingers through Sherlock’s sweat damp hair.“But then, when have we ever been ordinary?”Sherlock’s head bounces slightly where it rests on John’s chest when he laughs, still slightly breathless.

“Lucky us.”Sherlock glides his fingers over John’s stomach, playing with the pool of rapidly cooling semen.“I know that our sex life won't always be like this but, I have to admit, I am rather looking forward to experiencing all aspects of it.”

“Me too, Love.Me too.”


	29. A Family Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, it’s been great. Very refreshing.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “We’ve got a lot to tell you…” He breaks off when Sherlock comes out of the bathroom, pressing an affectionate kiss to John’s cheek before moving the spare chair closer, sliding his arm over John’s shoulders and smiling at Mrs Hudson.
> 
> “So I can see!” Mrs Hudson claps her hands together in delight and leans in a little closer to the screen, obviously studying everything about them. “Big things too, from the look of things. Ooh, I can’t wait!”

John fidgets as the ejaculate on his skin begins to dry, the feeling vaguely unpleasant and itchy.He nudges a drowsy Sherlock, chuckling at Sherlock’s sleepy sounds of protest.

“I need to grab a quick shower, I should wash this stuff off my stomach ..and other more intimate areas.. before it gets more uncomfortable.”

“Want company?”It’s a very tempting proposition but John can see how relaxed Sherlock looks and recognises it for the rarity it is.

“Another time, definitely.”He ruffles Sherlock’s hair as he eases himself off the bed. “You stay there, I won’t be long.”

The walk to the bathroom is probably one of the more unusual walks John has ever taken.He is conscious of the way his muscles, both intimate and more mundane, ache and twinge as he moves and he concentrates on trying to walk in his normal manner, realising he has failed miserably when the sound of a sleepy laugh reaches his ears.John relaxes his stance a little, blushing slightly at the wetness between his cheeks that is trying to escape down his thighs and the mess on his stomach that is sliding into his pubic hair.It seems sex, John muses as he closes the bathroom door, in its many varied and wonderful ways, results in aching muscles and shared bodily fluids no matter on the gender of the partner - especially when its done right; John grins at the thought.Catching sight of his reflection in the mirror John sees a man whose hair is silvering, whose skin is ageing but a man who is very happy with his lot in life and the new romantic relationship he has finally - finally - embarked upon.

John switches the shower on, barely allowing it time to warm up before stepping under the steady stream of water, closing his eyes as it rinses the thin patina of sweat from his face.His thigh muscles tremble slightly as he moves under the spray and, once again, John finds himself smiling as he thinks about exactly why he aches and trembles. 

A laugh escapes him when he suddenly recalls a very drunk night whilst at medical school and being accosted by an earnest fellow student who had felt the desperate need to share how lube and thorough preparation were a gay man’s best friend.He’d giggled at the time, shocked at how the usually reserved young man had felt the need to tell this piece of information to everyone he’d stumbled across, but John had squirrelled the information away, justifying it as being something that might be of use in his medical career.God, if he’d only known… 

John chuckles to himself, wondering if Sherlock will be interested in another round, he stretches for the soap, wincing slightly as he moves.This elicits another chuckle, he almost feels like a youngster again after an adventurous night on the town.As he rubs shower gel over his skin, twisting slightly to clean between his cheeks, his skin heats at the remembered touch of Sherlock’s fingers, Sherlock’s cock.John closes his eyes and lets his fingers drift over the tender skin, savouring the sensation.The doctor in him knows that he should allow his body time to recover but already he can feel the first tendrils of arousal dancing through his limbs; he switches his attention to his cock, gently cleaning himself as he recalls the way Sherlock had brought him to orgasm even as he was chasing his own. The very embodiment of an attentive lover.

Realistically, John knows he doesn’t have the short recuperation period he used to have and any further lovemaking will have to happen much later in the day.He grins, it gives him something to look forward to!Switching off the shower he steps out, drying off and reaching for one of the hotel’s dressing gowns, tying it loosely at his waist before returning to the bedroom.The sight that greets him bringing a soft smile to his lips.

Sherlock is sprawled across the bed, his face buried in John’s pillow, long, pale limbs tangled in the thin white sheet that does nothing to protect his modesty.John is loath to wake him but knows the importance of Sherlock washing after their encounter and he thinks Sherlock will appreciate the opportunity to rinse off the sweat and ease any aching muscles.

John rests his weight on the edge of the mattress, stroking the side of Sherlock’s face with gentle fingers.

“Sherlock? Time to wake up, Love.”His heart aches at the sleepy smile Sherlock directs at him, knowing he will never tire of seeing it.“You need to have a shower, it’s important you clean all your bits properly.”

Sherlock snorts and wearily rolls his eyes. “‘My bits,’ good to hear you using the correct medical terminology, Doctor Watson.”Sherlock’s eyes twinkle as he stretches, John’s gaze roaming over him.“I was aware of the necessity but I appreciate your concern.”

“I’m going to give Rosie a call, want me to hang on?”John queries, admiring the way Sherlock moves with enviable grace as he makes his way to the bathroom.

“No, you make the call, I’ll be out before you know it, then I’ll come and say hello.”The bathroom door clicks shut and John turns to collect their phones from Sherlock’s trousers.He switches them on, not expecting to see any messages or missed calls but he still lets out a sigh of relief when this is confirmed.He double checks the time, surprised that it is only approaching two in the afternoon, so much seems have happened since he woke up this morning; discussions about adoption, marriage and sex and then actual, mind-blowingly good, sex. John smirks as he powers up his laptop - it’s been a very busy day so far.

He is still smirking when the call connects and Mrs Hudson answers, once again Rosie is sat on her lap and looking extremely happy.She is waving enthusiastically at the camera, her fingertips daubed in brightly coloured paint and John can see dabs of the same colour on both their faces.

“Hello both of you.”John smiles so widely his cheeks start to ache.“You two young ladies look like you’ve been having lots of fun.”This comment is greeted with giggles from both of them and wiggles of brightly coloured little fingers, making his smile broaden further.

“We’ve been painting, Daddy!With our fingers!”Rosie leans forward and puts her fingers right in front of the camera, John is convinced the only reason there isn’t a bright orange smudge over the lens is because Mrs Hudson has managed to hold her back.“I painted a bee and a … and a.. a.. butterfly and… and..”Rosie trips over her words in her excitement.

“I bet they’re beautiful, Sweetheart!”John enthuses, secretly thinking that Rosie looks like she has been painting Mrs Hudson instead of her paper. 

Rosie starts wriggling around on Mrs Hudson’s lap before asking if she can go and get one of her paintings, Mrs Hudson carefully guides her down to the floor, watching with open affection as the child toddles off.

“Are you having a nice time, John?Getting plenty of rest?”John’s face heats and he looks away for a moment, feeling a little sheepish.

“Yeah, it’s been great.Very refreshing.”He takes a deep breath before continuing.“We’ve got a lot to tell you…” He breaks off when Sherlock comes out of the bathroom, pressing an affectionate kiss to John’s cheek before moving the spare chair closer, sliding his arm over John’s shoulders and smiling at Mrs Hudson.

“So I can see!”Mrs Hudson claps her hands together in delight and leans in a little closer to the screen, obviously studying everything about them.“Big things too, from the look of things.Ooh, I can’t wait!”

“Look Daddy!”Rosie comes back in to shot, carefully carrying her painting.She holds it gently as she is lifted back on to Mrs Hudson’s lap. “Daddy, hello!”This time her attention is on Sherlock, Sherlock gives a very tiny shake of his head when Mrs Hudson prepares to correct her.

“Hello, my little one.”John leans into Sherlock’s embrace, a little choked up at the love that is clear in Sherlock’s voice.“What a beautiful painting! Tell me all about it.”

John listens, smiling gently, as his daughter tells Sherlock all about her painting of a bee and he, in turn, admires how well she painted the wings and the fuzzy body, before enthusing about her use of colour.Truthfully, all John can see is a page mostly covered in black and yellow fingerprints but he adores the way that Sherlock praises their daughter, validating her and her choices.

“It’s very lovely, darling, shall we put it up on our fridge when Daddy and I get home?”John asks, he can hear the way Sherlock’s breath hitches as they both wait to see how Rosie will react.

Rosie’s eyes flit briefly between them before she breaks into a huge grin.“Yes please,” she answers before launching in to another discussion with Sherlock about her painting.John meets Mrs Hudson’s curious eyes, giving a very brief shake of his head, which he knows she will understand as an indication that he will tell her later, rather than a denial of information.

“Daddy?”John’s attention returns to his daughter.

“Yes Sweetheart?” 

“I’m going to paint.Bye Daddy.” She waves at John before directing her attention at Sherlock.“Bye Daddy.”She slides off of Mrs Hudson’s lap, happily chattering away to herself, and heads off to paint. 

“It always amazes me how eloquent she is.”Sherlock says, the words mostly meant for himself, full of emotion.

“She’s a very bright little girl.”Mrs Hudson agrees.“A little girl who has two fathers who love her very much and talk to her all the time, who encourage her to talk and actively listen to her.She’s an incredibly lucky girl.”

“Yes, she is,”John agrees. “She has the most wonderful Nanny in the world.”Uncharacteristically soppy.

“Oh John.”Mrs Hudson titters, touched by his words.“And on that note, I need to see what she’s up to.Enjoy what’s left of your weekend, I’ll see you tomorrow and I expect to be told _everything._ ”She laughs at their flushed faces before saying goodbye and signing off the computer.

‘She doesn’t actually mean _everything_ , does she?”John queries, still shocked by Mrs Hudson’s words.

“I rather fear she does, John.”Sherlock chuckles, pulling John in for a reassuring kiss, breaking off at the sound of a stomach rumbling.

“That wasn’t me.”John says, surprised.

“No,” Sherlock responds, looking throughly unimpressed with his transport.“That was me.”


	30. An Afternoon Outing.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finishing lunch they had decided to explore nearby Brighton, its classical architecture perfectly blending with the colourful shop fronts and equally colourful people. Initially, John had debated on going for a paddle in the sea but had soon realised that although the air may feel unseasonably warm, the water would be very similar to plunging his feet into a bucket full of ice. That had been persuasion enough to leave the beachside and walk further in to the town.

“Still thinking about your Sunday Roast, John?”Sherlock queries, smiling down at the man walking beside him.

“How’d you…Never mind.”John smiles back.“It was a very delicious meal; the roast potatoes were crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, the steamed vegetables tender and delicious, the gravy was rich and just thick enough.A perfect meal.”

“It’s unlike you to wax lyrical about food.”

“True.I think I’m just appreciating everything a little more this weekend.”John replies, holding Sherlock’s eye just a beat too long before returning his gaze back to the colourful shop fronts around them, happy in the knowledge that he caused the light flush that is riding high on Sherlock’s cheekbones.

After finishing lunch they had decided to explore nearby Brighton, its classical architecture perfectly blending with the colourful shop fronts and equally colourful people.Initially, John had debated on going for a paddle in the sea but had soon realised that although the air may feel unseasonably warm, the water would be very similar to plunging his feet into a bucket full of ice. That had been persuasion enough to leave the beachside and walk further in to the town.

It’s a strangely liberating experience, walking hand in hand, meandering about and peering into shops;couples of all orientations mill around them, holding hands, walking in easy companionship.Kisses and embraces are shared without fear of judgement or censure. John looks at the people and shops with equal wonder.

As ever, Sherlock seems to know what John is thinking, almost before John has had a chance to acknowledge his own thoughts and emotions.

“Things have changed a lot since our youth, John.Yes, there still are bigots out there but they are usually in the minority now, society on the whole is much more accepting.”

“Especially here.”He’d always known that Brighton was supposed to have a thriving gay community and sector but he hadn’t ever realised how large it was.

“Yes, especially here.A rather remarkable place, full of hidden gems. Architecture and people alike.I think Mrs Hudson and Rosie would love it here.”Sherlock muses, eyes alighting on a quaint tearoom and bakery he knows Mrs Hudson would adore.

“Perhaps we could come again in the Summer?Have a sort of family holiday?”John’s query is almost hesitant, not wanting Sherlock to feel like he is being ‘domesticated’.John fell in love with the whirlwind that is Sherlock, mind aflame when he works on an experiment or a case.That love had deepened when John had finally seen beyond the mask that other people see when they look at Sherlock - when he had seen the generous heart and realised how deeply Sherlock had always cared.Despite that, he doesn’t want Sherlock to feel like he must conform to some sort of ‘norm’ now that they are a couple.

“I’d enjoy that.”Sherlock smiles at John, eyes alight.“Perhaps we can leave Rosie and Mrs Hudson to explore one day without us and we can go investigate any cold cases they have here.”

‘Yeah, I’d like that.Sounds like just our sort of holiday!”John laughs, squeezing Sherlock’s hand before guiding him over to a small shop selling handmade gifts.“Let’s pop in, get something for Rosie.”

The shop is a veritable Aladdin’s cave, brightly coloured gifts adorn the shelves and dangle from the ceiling.At first, John feels a little overwhelmed by it all but he finally starts to discern some order in the chaos.They explore all of its little secrets and surprises before leaving the shop twenty minutes later with a bag full of gifts, giggling like school boys over some of their purchases.

John tugs Sherlock down a little side street and in to a quiet little cafe that he had caught a glimpse of earlier in their explorations, needing a refreshing drink before carrying on with their day. The cafe is clean and bright inside, the decor is simple and the rainbow colours of the Pride flag can be seen peeking out of teapots, picture frames and along the exposed beams of the ceiling; John instantly loves it and resolves to come again on their next visit. 

“What can I get you gentlemen?”The waiter is young, handsome, extremely fit and still not a patch on Sherlock, even with his easy smile and twinkling eyes.John smiles back at him before glancing at the menu, deciding that perhaps he could eat something after all.

“I’ll have a pot of Darjeeling tea and, um..”He glances at the list of tempting cakes again. “A small slice of Victoria Sponge, please.”

The waiter jots it down on his pad and turns to Sherlock.“And for you, Sir?”

“I’ll have the same.”

The waiter hesitates briefly, brown eyes flicking over John and Sherlock before speaking again.“I could make that a pot of tea for two and a large slice of Victoria Sponge to share, if you’d like?”

“That sounds lovely, thank you.”John answers, reaching across for Sherlock’s hand, enjoying the freedom to do so.

The waiter acknowledges their order and quickly walks to the counter to start preparing it.John can’t hep but notice the heeled boots he has on, the red patent leather showing bright against the pale wooden floorThe doctor in him automatically wonders about the wiseness of wearing heeled footwear in a job that requires you to be on your feet for most of the day.

“Stop fretting, I suspect he is very used to wearing those all day.You can tell by his posture and walk.” Once again, Sherlock seems to knows what John is thinking.

“I know.I just always worry about posture, weight referral and bunions whenever I see someone wearing heels for a long time.”John sniggers, playing with Sherlock’s fingers.“It used to make for decidedly unsexy dinner dates, I can tell you.”

“Those boots are extremely well made, the heel height is appropriate to the foot size and the heel width provides plenty of support for body weight.They look very comfortable to me.”

Before John can respond, the waiter returns with their order.The tea-set is fine china and printed with a delicate rendition of a seaside scene, their cake is on a matching plate dusted with icing sugar.The slice is generous and topped with a Pride flag, two silver forks resting beside it, their filigreed decoration reflecting the afternoon sun.

“Enjoy.”The waiter smiles at them before moving to another part of the cafe to take more orders.

For long minutes they simply drink their tea and steal mouthfuls of cake whilst watching the denizens of Brighton go about their day.Their spot in the bay window is perfect for people watching and reminiscent of their favourite table at Angleo’s.

“I think you and I should go out for a meal next Friday, caseload allowing.”John suggests, licking some buttercream off his fork.“To Angelo’s, a proper date.Finally."

“I’d like that.Usual table?Candles without any fuss?”Sherlock steals the last piece of Victoria Sponge off the plate, his sweet tooth ignoring the protests of his full stomach. “That sounds rather nice, caseload allowing.”

“Do you know what’s been nice about this weekend?”John asks, admiring how the sunlight shining through the window brings the elusive auburn tones of Sherlock’s hair out to play.

“The sex.”Sherlock delivers the words with perfect seriousness but the glint in his eye and the smirk he is hiding behind his cup reveal his true feelings.

“No.”John responds automatically, before laughingly correcting himself.“Well yes, but beyond that, it’s the time we've spent actually talking.I'm not sure we've ever talked as much as we have this weekend.Not about things that matter to us.”John’s words are earnest now and he reaches across the table to take Sherlock’s hands in his own.“We've ….. I've … been working on getting better at this sort of thing but it’s still hard for me.”

“I know, John.”Sherlock squeezes John’s hands, offering silent support.

“But this weekend, it’s like the final obstacle just vanished.” John smiles up at Sherlock.

“Time and the right setting.”Sherlock answers practically.

“Therapy, maturity and a very desperate need to finally say all the things I’ve always wanted to say, but never did.”John counters, his smile faltering for a second, recovering when Sherlock rubs his thumb over John’s wrist, the gesture so small and yet so comforting.

“Yes. I'm similar.There’s been things I've always wanted to say but never did.”

“You've said something like that before, at the airfield after.. after Magnussen.”John cocks his head to one side, eyes going slightly distant as he thinks about that day.

“Yes.”Sherlock is surprised John remembers the moment at all.

“You made a joke about Sherlock being a girl’s name.”John recalls, still unsure why Sherlock would have chosen that as the thing he’d always wanted to say.

“I also heavily implied that I loved you.”Sherlock admits, watching for John’s reaction.He is not disappointed.John jaw drops open for a moment before he closes it with a decisive click, his brow heavily furrowed.

“What?No, you didn’t. I would have noticed.”

“I’m not sure you would have _let_ yourself notice.” Sherlock says quietly before continuing on more loudly.“The name would have been Sherlock Watson.I said I thought it could work, meaning I thought _we_ could work.I’d hoped you’d realise I meant me.That name for me.”Sherlock meets John’s eye earnestly, his gaze never wavering.“I wanted to tell you that I loved you, that I had from the start but you looked too serious and I backed out.I made you laugh instead - I've always loved your laugh.” 

“Jesus fuck.”John breathes after a tense moment of stillness.“I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Sherlock brings one of John’s hands up to his lips, gently kissing his fingers before lowering it again.“We both were, John, but we are here now, communicating.”A sudden smile brightens Sherlock’s face and warmth colours his grey eyes.“And there’s no going back now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really, really sorry for the huge wait in posting this chapter! I kind of lost my mojo after a bit of a health scare (it's all good, just need to learn to pace myself more sensibly) but it seems to have popped back for a while. Very much hoping that my mojo isn't only here for a brief visit!


	31. Intimate Explorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come here,” The huskiness in John’s voice receives a raised eyebrow but, and more importantly, also an armful of warm, eager Consulting Detective. John’s arms automatically slide around Sherlock’s waist, hands slipping down to rest on the gentle swell of Sherlock’s backside. Sherlock’s agile hands are far from idle, coming to rest at John’s nape and the base of his spine, firm and guiding. John takes the hint and pushes up on the balls of his feet, eagerly meeting Sherlock half way in a kiss that leaves them both breathless from the outset. When Sherlock’s hips move against him, John can feel the way that Sherlock’s cock is already beginning to harden, the very knowledge of which makes his own arousal swell further.

John drops their room key on the table and slips off his shoes, admiring the way Sherlock moves as he removes his own shoes.A subtle tension has been building between them since they started their journey back to the hotel.Each glance and light touch has merely been adding to it and John is relieved to be back in their room and finally able to address it.

“Come here,”The huskiness in John’s voice receives a raised eyebrow but, and more importantly, also an armful of warm, eager Consulting Detective.John’s arms automatically slide around Sherlock’s waist, hands slipping down to rest on the gentle swell of Sherlock’s backside.Sherlock’s agile hands are far from idle, coming to rest at John’s nape and the base of his spine, firm and guiding.John takes the hint and pushes up on the balls of his feet, eagerly meeting Sherlock half way in a kiss that leaves them both breathless from the outset.When Sherlock’s hips move against him, John can feel the way that Sherlock’s cock is already beginning to harden, the very knowledge of which makes his own arousal swell further.

“How up are you for trying something a bit more unusual?”John breathes against Sherlock’s lips, his hips now brushing lightly against Sherlock’s thigh.

“You know me, John.”Sherlock replies, his lips flushed and damp, eyes fluttering when John rocks against him more firmly.“I'm always ready to experiment.”

“Good.”John manages before losing himself in another searing kiss that lasts for long, infinitely pleasurable, minutes.“Hop in the shower.”

“Again?I’ve already had two today.”Sherlock pouts, the strangely endearing look makes John chuckle, but not back down.

“Believe me, it will be worth the effort.”John murmurs, running his lips over Sherlock’s neck, eliciting a delightful shiver.

“You’re joining me?”Sherlock asks, stepping away and starting to unfasten his shirt.

“Not this time,” John licks his lips, admiring Sherlock as he undresses.“As much as I’d love to, I know we’d get carried away and I have very definite ideas of what I’d like to do to you, once you’re back out here.”

“Hmmm, I’m definitely intrigued now.” Grey eyes roam over John’s form before flicking towards the bed and back again, a slow smile curling Sherlock’s lips even as he strips, clever fingers making short work of the fastenings.Sherlock maintains eye contact as his clothes fall to the floor, before stepping out of them and back into John’s space.John’s eyes close at the sensation of a very naked Sherlock pressed up against him, the contrast between their levels of nudity more arousing than he would have thought possible.A light kiss flutters against his lips before Sherlock moves away, John sucks in a deep breath, his eyes opening at the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut.

“Christ,”John utters on a shaky laugh, dragging a hand over his face, needing to get his head in the game before Sherlock returns.Quickly, he moves over to their bedside table, retrieving their lube, with swift moves he strips the bed of excess pillows and adjusts the duvet so that it only covers one side of the bed.Happy with what he has achieved, John takes his own clothes off, feeling a little foolish just standing in an empty room with an obvious erection.Luckily, Sherlock leaves the bathroom in a billow of steam before John can have any second thoughts.

“So,”Sherlock practically purrs. “Where _precisely_ would you like me?On the bed….or back in your arms?

“Arms, to begin with.”John responds, not needing to think about his answer, quietly moaning when Sherlock presses their bodies together, his skin still slightly damp from his shower. 

John peppers light kisses over Sherlock’s chest, loving the brush of fine chest hair against his lips, before dipping down to suck one pert nipple between his lips, remembering how much Sherlock had loved this previously.Long fingers slide into John’s hair, holding him gently in place;John smiles against Sherlock’s skin, happy to follow the unspoken guidance.John trails his left hand over Sherlock’s stomach, following the trail of hair, before taking Sherlock’s cock firmly in his hand. 

In a few short minutes, Sherlock is writhing under John’s touch and John decides to start acting on his original idea.Trailing his lips back up Sherlock’s chest, pausing momentarily to suck a small mark on Sherlock’s clavicle, John uses his hold on Sherlock’s penis and hip to guide him back towards the bed.Sherlock goes willingly, his hands splayed over John’s buttocks, fingers just dipping between them, causing John’s step to falter briefly.

“Lay face down on the bed.”John murmurs, moving his hands away from Sherlock, breath hitching when Sherlock does as he asks without delay or question. “Spread your legs.”

John’s mouth waters at the way the last of the afternoon light dances over the play of Sherlock’s muscles as he moves to position himself as requested, highlighting his quiet strength and grace.Taking a deep breath, John climbs on to the end of the bed, crawling between Sherlock’s parted legs before putting his arms either side of Sherlock’s torso, allowing his body to brush against Sherlock’s as he moves up the length of him.

Sherlock arches up in to John’s touch, his sighs and moans doing much to alleviate the very last of John’s nerves.John presses open mouthed kisses over Sherlock’s back, his cock dragging over smooth, warm skin, the sensation bordering on the sublime. John pays attention to freckles and silvered scars alike, his tongue tracing patterns over flexing muscles as he moves until he settled with his weight on his forearms either side of Sherlock’s head.John kisses the nape of Sherlock’s neck, moving to nip and lick at the tendons that stand proud as Sherlock moves his head, wordlessly encouraging John to continue. 

Adjusting his weight, John continues his administrations over Sherlock’s shoulders, the position causing his cock to rub against the globes of Sherlock’s backside, occasionally slipping between them, eliciting sudden gasps of ecstasy from both men.John makes his way slowly down Sherlock’s body, kissing, licking and lightly biting at every inch of skin he encounters.Reaching the curve of Sherlock’s backside John encourages Sherlock to lift his hips slightly, Sherlock raises up on his knees, instinctively knowing what John needs of him.

John licks his lips at the sight before him, his cock throbbing at his need to lick and taste and savour.John leans in, using gentle hands to part Sherlock further, and lets his breath flutter against Sherlock, gratified when Sherlock gasps out a breathless, ‘Oh God.’With gentle swipes John runs his tongue over the furled skin before him.Sherlock’s instinctive reaction is to pull away but less than second later he is pushing back towards John, one hand reaching out to grab on to John’s thigh, the other fisting into the material of the sheet beneath them. 

For long minutes, John teases and tastes, making the area wet and loose, his own cock aching and happily neglected for now.He pushes his face in further, grinning as Sherlock lets out another heartfelt groan, before licking in to Sherlock’s body, letting the sensation flood his own body.They are both rocking now, moving together, perfectly in sync as always.John spends time dipping in and out, tasting Sherlock, driving him nearly to climax before easing off, only to start the cycle all over again.

“John, please. I need you, please.”Sherlock begs, (twice, a small part of John’s brain notes smugly) his words stuttered and breathless and the most beautiful sound John thinks he has ever heard.

John reaches out blindly, searching for the lube he had left on the bed earlier.Finally, his questing hand knocks against the bottle and John grabs at it gratefully, popping it open and squeezing it generously over two fingers.John’s attentions have definitely loosened Sherlock but John is not willing to take any risks; besides, he thinks smirking, he’s rather looking forward to having Sherlock writhing on his fingers before he has him writhing on his cock.John slides one finger into Sherlock, listening and watching how Sherlock reacts before he slides another finger in alongside it.Judging by Sherlock’s reactions, John knows that he is doing something _very_ right indeed.Altering the angle of his fingers slightly has Sherlock almost yelling out his approval as John brushes over his prostate; John is so hard that he physically aches but he refuses to rush this for either of them.More minutes pass as John works in more fingers, the air filled with the sounds of moaning and gasped out half words, before he finally feels that they are ready for more.

John shuffles back and encourages Sherlock to flip over on to his back, wanting to his every expression;Sherlock’s face and chest is mottled red, sweat dampening his hairline and top lip.

“Christ, you are fucking gorgeous!”The words slip out but John wouldn’t take them back for the world, Sherlock flushes deeper and reaches out for John.John resists only long enough to smooth a liberal amount of lube over his cock, he smiles as Sherlock reaches for a pillow and pushes it under his hips, before grabbing at John’s thighs and pulling him closer.

Eyes never leaving Sherlock’s, John positions himself and slowly eases in, only stopping when his testicles brush against Sherlock’s skin.Sherlock’s hands rest heavily on John’s backside before he squeezes, encouraging John to move again.Feeling Sherlock around him is more than John thought it could ever be, each movement applies pressure in all the right places and judging by the grip Sherlock has on John’s arse, it is not only John that is thoroughly enjoying every moment of their lovemaking. The only thing that John regrets is that he can not easily reach Sherlock’s lips to kiss him, he tries to make up for this by pressing breathy kisses all over the flushed skin of Sherlock’s chest, stretching up to lick at the small pool of sweat that is starting to form in the dip between Sherlock’s clavicles.The fresh saltiness bursting over John’s tongue even as he reaches for another taste.

John loses track of how long they move together, ignoring the way that his muscles are starting to cramp and ache, wanting only to be in the here and now.The ‘now’ being a matter of causing Sherlock as much pleasure as he possibly can; John adjusts his position, hitting Sherlock’s prostate on almost every stroke.He is vaguely aware of the noise they are making and he grins with the joy of their lovemaking, happy to share the knowledge with anyone and everyone who can hear them.Sherlock’s words become even more garbled and John knows his climax is near, he closes his fist over Sherlock’s cock, barely any extra stimulation is required before Sherlock is spilling over his fist.John’s eyes are fixed on the play of pleasure over Sherlock’s features; the parted full lips, the fluttering eyelids and the flexing of the tendons in his elegant neck as he rides out the intense sensations.Seconds later, John’s own orgasm floods over him; he stills before pumping his hips more forcefully, attempting to wring out the very last drop of ecstasy.He drops heavily on to Sherlock’s damp chest, gasping; for a long moment he just rests there, catching his breath as Sherlock does the same, before his eyelids lose the battle of staying open.John is aware of slipping out of Sherlock only as a distant thing, exhaustion claiming him as he drifts in to a light sleep.


	32. Home at last.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I really can’t be bothered to get dressed and go down to dinner, we should order room service again.” John suggests, relaxing comfortably on their bed; unembarrassed that they had called Housekeeping for a change of sheets that was done whilst they showered.
> 
> “I once called you an idiot, John. I am willing to admit that I may have wrong.” Sherlock curls up at John’s side, hair starting to dampen the shoulder of John’s robe.
> 
> “That’s because you don’t want to get dressed either, isn’t it?” John teases, tipping Sherlock’s chin up for a kiss. “You can get up and get the menu. I’m basking in the compliment.” John folds his arms behind his head, laughing at the shock on Sherlock’s face.
> 
> “It wasn’t a compliment.” Sherlock mutters as he fetches the menu.

“I’m growing positively aquatic.” Sherlock complains, having his fourth shower of the day.“I’ll have gills and a tail at this rate.”

“Shut up complaining.”John laughs, rubbing shower gel over the long length of Sherlock’s body.“Is this really so unpleasant?Us?Naked?In a small space?”

“No,” Sherlock concedes, “This is very nice, I’m just complaining about all the water.”

“Moany git.”John moves Sherlock under the shower spray, admiring the way the soap suds run down his body.

“Grumpy old man.”Sherlock retorts, leaning down to share a lingering kiss, smiling in to it.

The rest of their shower is completed with more shared jokes and washing, their laughter echoing around the room. When they finally emerge, they are red skinned and happy, wrapped in soft, towelling robes.

“I really can’t be bothered to get dressed and go down to dinner, we should order room service again.”John suggests, relaxing comfortably on their bed; unembarrassed that they had called Housekeeping for a change of sheets that was done whilst they showered.

“I once called you an idiot, John.I am willing to admit that I may have been wrong.”Sherlock curls up at John’s side, hair starting to dampen the shoulder of John’s robe.

“That’s because you don’t want to get dressed either, isn’t it?”John teases, tipping Sherlock’s chin up for a kiss.“You can get up and get the menu. I’m basking in the compliment.”John folds his arms behind his head, laughing at the shock on Sherlock’s face.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Sherlock mutters as he fetches the menu.

“Near enough.”John moves quickly to catch the menu that has been tossed in his general direction.“Cock.”

‘You love my cock.”Sherlock answers as he snuggles back against John’s side. “Choose us some food.”

John does as instructed, knowing that left to his own devices Sherlock will either order nothing or everything.

“I’ll miss this, when we get back.”John strokes Sherlock’s hair, smiling at the way it fluffs up around his fingers.

“Mmmm?”Sherlock pushes up in to John’s touch.

“Sleeping together, cuddling together.”John realises how soppy he is sounding.“Being able to shag whenever we want to.”

“We can do that at home.”

“Not really, I share my room with Rosie.I love her to bits but having her sleeping in my room will kind of limit things.”

“The solution is simple, John.You move in to my room as soon as we return home.”Sherlock replies, the answer apparently obvious.“We’ll decorate your old room up for Rosie, get her a proper bed and wardrobe.She’s big enough to have her own space, don’t you think?”

“You’d be okay with that?” John queries, surprised at how calm Sherlock is about giving up some of _his_ own space. 

“Of course.It’s the next logical step.”Sherlock trails his fingers between the gaping sides of John’s robe, playing with the fine chest hair he encounters. “For us, and for her.”

“Of course.”John agrees, there’s no reason for him not to.

They subside into comfortable silence, enjoying the way the last light of day filters in to the room, leaving everything undefined and soft.John is just dropping into a light doze when a knock announces the arrival of room service.John grumbles but starts to get up to open the door, pleasantly surprised when Sherlock encourages him to lie back down and lets the waiter in himself.

Once again, the table is laid with food, crockery, cutlery and drinks; the waiter is tipped generously and the trolley left behind for later use.John and Sherlock decide to eat their food at the table, rather than drop crumbs in their newly changed bed.To John, every mouthful tastes more flavoursome than anything he’s tasted before; he knows this is only because this is their final meal together, away from the hustle and bustle of their every day life, but he can’t help but savour it.He wonders how often they will get to have a quiet meal together before realising he really doesn’t care; time spent with Sherlock, whether relaxing or running around like a headless chicken, is time well-spent - just add in the extra element of unpredictability that Rosie brings and it makes for a fairly perfect moment, in John’s opinion.

Conversation is light but neither man feels inclined to develop it further, both content with the other’s company.Once they’ve eaten their fill they work together to clear the table, before wheeling the trolley outside.Sherlock ensures the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign is in place before closing and locking the door.

“Got plans, have you?”John grins, trying to hold in a yawn and failing.

“Yes, John.”Sherlock slips off his bathrobe and slides naked in to their bed. “My plans involve being naked, curling up next to you and sleeping until morning.”

“Very devious!”John smothers another yawn.“I approve.”John drops his own robe to the floor before crawling into bed next to Sherlock.

For a few minutes they fidget, before finally settling on their sides, John wrapped around Sherlock and snoring lightly.Sherlock resists momentarily, purely out of habit, before finally succumbing to a deep and dreamless sleep.

***

The morning light rouses John and Sherlock slowly and they seek each other out, limbs still heavy from sleep.Hands and lips make slow explorations, bodies slowly becoming more alert with each kiss and touch of hand.With measured strokes they bring each other to completion, moving only enough to reach for tissues to clean themselves up before dropping back to sleep. 

They wake again, this time for good, an hour later.Another shower is shared, this time with no complaints from Sherlock, before they make quick work of packing up their belongings, ready to check out after breakfast.

Leaving their bags in their room, they make their way to the lift, greeting the only other occupant politely before turning their attention back to each other.

“It’s Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, isn’t it?”Their fellow passenger asks, it’s obvious from his tone that this is more than a polite query.

“Yes.”Sherlock keeps his answer short and cold, turning his back on the man, an obvious indication that he should consider the conversation over.Unfortunately, the man rather likes the sound of his own voice and continues talking.

“When I saw you booking in on Friday, I was convinced that you must be on some sort of case.I’ve been watching you and your whole ‘couple’ act ever since then.”

“Good for you.”Again, Sherlock’s words are calculated to halt any further conversation.

“I was convinced it must be to help you solve whatever case you were on, help you to blend in perhaps.”Their fellow passenger continues, undeterred.

“Yes, you’re very clever.”Sherlock rolls his eyes and curses the interminable lift ride.

“But something doesn't quite ring true in the way you both behave around each other, even if it is just an act.”

“That’s because it isn't an act!”Sherlock snaps out, breathing out a huge sigh of relief when they finally reach the ground floor.He is tempted to grab John and stalk out, instead he decides to leave with more dignity.“If you would excuse us, John and I are going to have some breakfast and then we will be on our way home to see _our_ daughter.Enjoy the rest of your stay.”

When it is time to check out, John and Sherlock wait patiently whilst the concierge deals with the person in from of them.They are a polite distance away but the deep voice of the middle-aged man reaches them easily.Martin’s cheerful voice also rings true, although John notices that Martin seems ill at ease around this client, his voice a little higher and more hesitant than usual.

Sherlock passes the time muttering observations in John’s ear.“Pilot. Heavy drinker, it’s costing him his marriage, may end up costing him his job. Small time smuggler, doesn’t do it for the money, does it because he is bored.Stays here regularly, despite it being rather out of his way.”

“Mrs Richardson not joining you this week, Captain Richardson?”Martin asks, fiddling with his pen, ending up with ink over his fingers when the pen breaks.

“No, Martin.It seems marriage number two didn't quite survive the take off.”Captain Richardson takes the broken pen away from Martin, managing to do so without getting a drop of ink on his hands.

“Oh, I am sorry to hear that.”Martin says softly.

“No, it’s ok.She wasn't my favourite one any way.”He replaces Martin’s pen with a rather nicer one of his own, waving away Martin’s hesitant words of thanks.

“Which one was your favourite?”Martin asks, once he regains his composure.

“Oh, I’m rather hoping it will be the next one.”Captain Richardson answers smoothly, leaning in slightly and causing Martin to blush as he finishes the booking.

Martin’s cheeks are still a delicate red when Sherlock and John step up to his desk.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”Martin greets them, “I hope you enjoyed your weekend with us.”

John links his free hand with Sherlock’s and smiles broadly at Martin.“Yeah, we did.It’s been perfect really.”

“That is wonderful, and may I say, it’s been an honour having you stay with us.”Martin’s earnest face lends truth to his words. 

“Thank you, Martin.This weekend has been even more than I could have hoped for.”Sherlock allows a small part of the great heart he usually keeps so deeply hidden to show; leaving both Martin and John speechless. 

With a final word of farewell, John and Sherlock make their way out to the waiting car; the weekend has been wonderful but they are ready to go home, back to their everyday lives and their family. 

Their journey home passes swiftly, with John once again singing the praises of first class train travel, and before long they are exiting the taxi outside of 221B Baker Street.John collects their luggage from the car and together they turn to face the door, hand in hand, ready to face the world as a couple.

The front door bursts open and a tiny whirlwind runs out to greet them.“Daddy!”Sherlock smiles down at Rosie, expecting her to head for John, delighted when she wraps her small arms around both of them.Her reach is just long enough to wrap around one of Sherlock’s and John’s lower legs and she peppers small kisses over their knees, making them both laugh out loud.

Sherlock bends down to pick her up, making her squeal with delight when he pretends to drop her.“Silly Daddy!”She declares, her carefree words bringing delight in their wake.

“Welcome home boys.”Mrs Hudson greets them both with a kiss on the cheek, laughing when Sherlock bends a little so that she can reach.“Rosie and I have made scones and there’s a nice pot of tea brewing.”

Sherlock lets John walk through the door first, carrying their luggage, before following on with Rosie.A quick glimpse at the door sours his mood a little but he follows the little group inside, muttering about interfering brothers.

He enters Mrs Hudson’s cosy living room to find his brother reclining on one of her chintz armchairs.John has taken over from Mrs Hudson and is pouring the tea, making her relax in the other chair, knowing that she has had her hands full with his little monster.

“I believe congratulations are in order, John.”Mycroft sips out of the delicate cup, one fine eyebrow arched, causing John to wonder, once again, how Mycroft manages to fit so much smug disdain in one small gesture.

“Thank you.”Sherlock accepts his drink, knowing the futility of asking how Mycroft knows anything.

“What is the old saying?”Mycroft pauses for dramatic effect, his eyebrow drooping slightly when no one responds.“Better late than never?You were getting perilously close to never, Doctor Watson.Perilously close.”

“I know.”John sits next to Sherlock on the sofa, pulling Rosie on to his lap.“Thank you, Mycroft, for helping me with this weekend.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Yes, _please_ don’t mention it.”Sherlock intercedes, his voice heavy with feigned boredom.

“Hello, room for two little ones?”

“Oh joy, more people.”Sherlock intones, rolling his eyes at the arrival of Molly and Lestrade.

“Sherlock.”John warns lightly, nudging him with his foot.

“Well, I guess it saves us the trouble of organising a party.”Sherlock glances over at John, who gives a small nod signalling his approval.“John and I have an announcement to make.”

Mrs Hudson makes a small squeal of delight, which she quickly stifles, when Sherlock shoots a quelling look in her direction.Sherlock reaches for John’s hand, linking them together and smiling softly across at him.

“Whilst we were away, John asked me to marry him and I agreed.We hope to be married in the very near future.” 

“Really?”Greg sounds thoroughly shocked, Mrs Hudson and Molly smile broadly and share a hug, whilst Mycroft continues to radiate smugness.

“Yes, really!”John chuckles. “So is anybody, other than Mycroft, going to congratulate us?”

The room resonates with happy voices and well wishes, causing even Sherlock to crack a genuine smile.Mrs Hudson declares an impromptu party and together with Molly, bustles off to organise refreshments from Speedy’s.

The rest of the day passes by with fond reminiscing and gentle teasing, food, drink and great company.John and Sherlock’s gifts from Brighton are given out just as the last of the daylight is fading away.Mrs Hudson’s overhead lights make everyone squint at first, but serves to rouse a few heavy eyelids - some through tiredness, some through alcohol.

Sherlock gives Rosie her gifts first.“Oh look!A flutterby, it’s so pretty.Put it in my hair!”Sherlock gently slides the butterfly hair clip into Rosie’s hair, tapping the wings to make them flap.Next, Rosie opens her other gift, eyes going wide at the sight of the hand painted wooden animals.“Thank you, Daddy.”She runs to hug John, then Sherlock, being sure to thank him as her dad too, before moving away to set up her new toys on Mrs Hudson’s coffee table.

Molly is given her gift next and instantly loves the hand painted cat bowls, declaring that Toby will love them.Mrs Hudson’s gift of hand painted ceramic herb pots for her windowsill are greeted with equal appreciation.

Greg is very happy with his hand knitted scarf but a little perplexed by the pattern. 

“Umbrellas?”He glances at John for help.John tilts his head towards Mycroft, who is studiously looking in the other direction.

“We thought it might serve as a reminder to you about who might be interested in coming to watch you play football, you know, and perhaps keep you warm.Just like that scarf.”Greg looks a little shocked but looks towards Mycroft with obvious interest.

Mycroft tries to look unperturbed by his present of a hand-blown glass bowl complete with a hand-spun glass goldfish; but the colour riding high on his cheeks suggests that he has understood the heavy hint behind his present, as do the many glances he sends in Greg’s direction.

John and Sherlock leave the party an hour later, John carrying an exhausted Rosie.Sherlock places their luggage in the living room, declaring he will deal with it in the morning.With practised moves they get a grumpy Rosie ready for bed, before taking turns getting themselves washed and dressed in their pyjamas.

“Not quite how I pictured my first night in _our_ bed going.”John whispers as he slides under the covers.

“Nor I.I’m not complaining though.I’ve missed her.”Sherlock answers quietly whilst slipping under the sheets, smiling down at the little blonde bundle that is managing to take up a large portion of their bed, despite being the smallest thing in it.

“I have too.” John leans over his daughter and meets Sherlock in the middle for a chaste but loving kiss.“Night Love.” He presses a light kiss on his daughter’s forehead, smiling when Sherlock does the same. “Night Sweetheart.”

John falls to sleep that night very content with his life.He may not have taken the easiest route to get where he is but his life feels near perfect.He knows other people won’t look any deeper than the surface level and will only see what they want to see; but then, he muses sleepily, that is very much their loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it!
> 
> I started this during Lockdown (March 2020) and bizarrely I am ending it just as where I live once again enters Lockdown. 
> 
> Writing this story and reading all your lovely responses has really been the silver lining of the Covid cloud. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your constant support!
> 
> Much love,  
> Dee  
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something light, it has kept my spirits up, I hope you enjoy it too!


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